Mr and Mrs Queen
by Catheryne
Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.
1. Chapter 1

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

AN: Thank you for joining the stream of my consciousness once more. I wanted to do this since Fortune but Legends took over my head for a time. And so this comes a bit later, but I hope you will enjoy. There are a hundred married fics out there now. This is a drop of water in the pond of loveliness that is their married life. Expect mystery, action, drama and all that jazz.

**Part 1**

She hugged the cream coat over her body. California was warm and sunny, far warmer and sunnier than Kansas. Her favorite coat—a sentimental gift that was supposed to represent the warmth of an embrace—should have been more than enough. Tonight it was not. The air was cool and her cocktail dress was silk and thin. Chloe should have waited, and she was going to hear about her lack of caution.

Nobody could have predicted that the cab would break down, or that she would have to walk two blocks to the next stop where she was sure a lot of cabs waited. Chloe was grateful for the streetlights. Her phone rang inside her purse and Chloe picked it up.

"I'm coming," she said. "I know," Chloe answered. "Believe me I know. I'm stressed enough as it is." She glanced up at the street sign. "Somewhere along Pine. I'm not familiar with this area."

For someone who had worked saving people from this for years, she was rather stupid to be in this situation now. No matter how intelligent or aware though, Chloe realized that sometimes these things just happened. They had to clean up Star City. In the area where they lived the world seemed secure and clean. Apparently there were still drudges such as this one that they had forgotten about.

Chloe stopped still on her tracks when she saw the shadowed figure in front of her. Her heart raced. She was grateful she didn't have her ring.

"Give me your money."

She glanced around, found no weapon. Her heart sank when she realized there was another one behind her. As fantastic as she was now in hand to hand combat she was sure she could not take these two and what glinted under the moonlight in both their hands in her silk dress and high heels.

"Easy," she said. Chloe was about to open her purse. She hit the panic button on the phone in her hand. The man stalked towards her and grabbed her purse and her phone. When they scampered away she breathed a sigh of relief. Chloe collapsed back onto the post and gasped for breath.

She squealed out loud when a hand clamped over her mouth and suddenly she was pulled into a darkened alley. Chloe felt her back press against the wall. She looked up wide-eyed at the man who held her, and she relaxed beneath him. He stared at her with an odd mix of fury and fear.

"I'm sorry," she gasped out when he took his hand from her mouth. Chloe grabbed the leather-clad arms and then clung to his neck. Her body trembled so she held on. She heard him murmur a question as he inspected her, made sure she was not hurt. "I'm okay."

His eyebrows arched over his dark glasses. Chloe reached up and took off the glasses. She smoothed the furrow on his forehead. His jaw was tense when he said, "You should have taken the car."

"It doesn't fit." In this identity, in this mockup. Times like these he absolutely hated the rationale, no matter how he had sworn to support her this never sat well. But she was grateful he did not let go. She was fine. Even earlier she had always known he would swoop in and save the day, but she was not going to stop trembling any time soon.

"I don't care that it doesn't fit with Anne Jones' life. You're not Anne Jones. You're my wife," he insisted.

Brashly—Chloe just knew he would apologize later—Oliver took the golden diamond-studden watch from her wrist. He tossed it aside like it did not cost a little over a hundred thousand dollars. Chloe heard the clatter on the ground and did not care. From his belt he produced the ring she had left sitting at home in the bedside table, then slid it on her finger.

The sight of the ring made her throat tighten. Chloe thrust her hips against his. The cream coat hung off her shoulders. In the dark alley she raised her legs around his hips. The silk hem gathered around her waist. Oliver held onto her ass, his fingers digging into her flesh. Chloe bit her lower lip.

In the darkness where no one else could see she was his wife. In the darkness she was no one else but Chloe.

His gloved hand slipped between them. Chloe's head fell back when his fingertips teased over the moist portion of her panties and he pressed forward. Oliver pushed her underwear aside and thrust his fingers inside, where she was moist, dripping. Her hands grasped his back. Her lips sought his and she slanted her mouth over his.

"How long can we lie?" he asked huskily. Her one hand dipped down and she fumbled over the tights—pants—pushed them down fiercely and insistently.

"I'm not lying now," she answered, because really whatever name she used this was real. Between them, everything would always be real. She grasped the length of him and gasped out as he stretched and filled her. She met him thrust for every thrust. "Can't ever lie about this."

"You don't know how much I wanted you tonight."

Chloe cupped his face with her hands, gave him the load to keep them both upright as she captured his lips. She could tell what he thought every second, and she returned the pent up energy then. "Just remember I love you. Always just you," she said in reassurance. She owed him that at least. "Never loved anyone like I love you."

He was hard and strong inside her and he thrust. She shut her eyes tightly when something broke inside her. "God," he breathed into her ear, long and soft and drawn out.

She felt the tension in his shoulders as he controlled the movement of his hips. Chloe widened her legs, tightened the way she grasped onto his pumping hips. "It's okay," she said to him. "Let go. Don't hold back." And still the desperation with which he held himself told her he was fighting. "You don't need to hold back. It's me. It's your wife, Ollie. You can give me everything."

And then she felt it. Her body screamed, but the strength was coupled by the look in his eyes. "Chloe," he said her name, and she relished it, bathed in it. He exploded inside her and he pumped, over and over, erratic in the interval, shallow and so deep she almost wept. He spilled inside her in a hot series, filling her, spilling onto her inner thighs. Chloe closed her eyes and held tight, letting him take it all as she melted against him.

An hour ago

It was hardly appropriate, and Chloe knew it broke all the rules, but she was still young enough despite all that life had thrown her way that she was bubbling excitement over the gift-wrapped box that the man placed right on the table in front of her. Her eyes crinkled at the black card that sat on top of it. Her eyebrows rose at the sight. The B in cursive was enthralling. Somehow, because it was in white font atop the stark black card she was titillated by the possibility. Like it was a message of agreement for something she had been angling for so many months now.

She laid her fingertips on the edges of the box. Her nails gently traced the place where the paper met paper, eager to tear the cover to reveal what was inside.

Long ago she had hated presents because they spoke volumes of what she had been unwilling to face. Now presents thrilled her. She blamed it on Oliver. It was his fault for making every present more pleasurable than the last. He had been so successful even presents from other people made her heart leap. Chloe supposed that was how regular people—and by regular she thought of those people who were not as scarred and impossibly damaged as she had been—felt about presents in general.

Her eyes sparkled as she took the box in her hands and she whirled around, looking for the gift-giver partly to caution him that displays such as these were bound to call attention where they should not, and partly to thank him for being thoughtful. Chloe spotted the visitor, he who was the toast of Star City on his visit, lounging by the bar with his half-lidded eyes trained on her every move. She walked towards him and she could not help but feel the heat of his gaze as it rested on her hips.

If Oliver could see him, she would not hear the end of it later tonight.

When she reached her target, Chloe gave a small, lopsided grin. She dropped her voice, "And I thought we were playing it all under the covers."

"I merely wanted to show my appreciation."

The favor he had requested was not difficult. It had been barely a challenge. But the man had been used to operating on his own he likely did not know how easy life could be with a partner. Chloe had done far more dangerous tasks as a reporter than he requested when he was costumed and on the field.

"You do realize," she began, "that people saw this gift delivered, and now that you're talking to me so casually they would suspect that it's from you. They will be waiting to see why you, Mr Wayne, should be thanking me so personally."

"That question will land on you, Miss Jones. After all, I will be gone by the end of the week."

Her eyebrow arched. "Are you really going to leave me in a lurch, to face the media firestorm you're going to kickstart with a gift?" she asked.

"It was a gift." He grinned. It was such a rare sight she tamped down the urge to pull up her phone and take a snapshot. "Besides, I know you can give them hell."

"You'd have then stumbling over each other trying to find out more about me," Chloe pointed out.

"And we know there's nothing to find."

She had almost forgotten that the day she appeared Bruce had scrambled to figure out her hidden identity too. Thankfully, with the combined efforts of Tess and herself, with Oliver's resources, they had completed the transition from Chloe Sullivan to giving her some thin background as the newest Star City reporter Anne Jones. It was irritatingly general to Bruce; he had found thousands of Anne Jones from the US, to Australia, to England, to South Africa. It had been delightfully endearing to Oliver; he preferred to think Chloe was unwilling to be apart from at least part of her name and that she had latched onto their husband and wife identities of the late FBI agents.

"Nothing you can find at all," Chloe agreed. "Which makes me suspect they will hound me to death and I will never be able to respond to your SOS." She paused for effect. "Ever."

He muttered something under his breath. Chloe thought it could have been curse words. She was not certain. Knowing who she was talking to, it was likely curse words. Not likely. Quite probably. And then, Chloe decided, most definitely.

"You've gotta give me something, Bruce, that you can be infinitely grateful for."

He stared at her for a beat or two, then sighed. "A fantastic interview that puts me in a whole new light," he decided. "Something that doesn't refer to me as a playboy or some privileged kid. Not everything's been handed to me on a silver platter, you know." He glanced towards someone over Chloe's shoulder, and Chloe could not help but burst into laughter when Bruce continued, "Unlike other people like Star City's own Oliver Queen."

"You have something against Mr Queen?" she asked lightly.

"One of the privileged sons I went to school with. He has the nerve to glare at me right now like he owns Star City and I'm not welcome here." Chloe suspected that Bruce was inflating the look on Oliver's eyes. When Bruce placed a hand on her upper arm for an affectionate squeeze, Chloe realized that Bruce was right. She stepped away slowly, just enough to keep him from touching but not stepping too far away. "Let's say the gift was for a fair interview. I think you can manage to pull together a few paragraphs making the Wayne name sparkle."

"That's bribery," Chloe said. Different name or not, she was still careful of her journalistic reputation.

He snorted laughter. "Bribery requires that it be valuable enough to sway you. It can be something as stupid as a paperweight."

Chloe narrowed her eyes and shook the box. She was really more excited about the black card and that was what she had wanted to talk to him about. "Just tell me the B stands for what we talked about and you're now stepping up."

Bruce winced at her action, then caught her wrist to stop it. Chloe almost rolled her eyes. Of all the things he needed to do, he had to touch her. She knew someone in the room would protest violently, and it was not her. Chloe could almost feel the back of her neck prickle, almost hear his footsteps as he neared. "You don't want to do that. Believe me," he said to her, pushing down her wrist to steady the box.

Chloe's eyes flashed warning to Bruce. Any other man would have taken it, but Bruce Wayne had just the right amount of arrogance that Oliver had. When Bruce caught the look in her eyes, he glanced behind her. His vague confusion cleared when he saw Oliver near.

And then the bastard grinned. "Open it," Bruce said, smirking at her.

Chloe slowly turned her head, almost fearful of what she would see. Oliver stood patiently behind her now, close enough that he could draw her away at any time. But she had warned him over and over, and they had agreed that they would do this her way. So Oliver stood there, like he was waiting for a chance to converse with an old school friend.

Which they were. Chloe just needed to relax. Take comfort at least that her husband had enough control over his temper.

"Wooing ladies with gifts now, Bruce?" Oliver drawled behind her.

Chloe's toes curled. He had such a delicious voice when he drew it out like that. It was his threatening voice, aimed at Bruce. However it just sounded so sexy to her. She could not wait until she shed this identity and she could just come home and stop pretending.

Chloe swallowed. "Mr Queen," she greeted.

"Ms Jones," he returned. "I see Mr Wayne gave you a gift."

"To thank her for a job well done on the interview piece."

Oliver cocked his head. "I wasn't aware you were going to interview Mr Wayne."

Bruce chuckled. "I didn't know you were so interested in current events that you had tabs on Ms Jones' schedule."

"He doesn't," Chloe said quickly.

"Open it," Bruce urged again.

And Chloe did not know why—it certainly failed to pass all the tests she needed to take in her decisions to protect her identity—but she glanced at Oliver. Waited.

Oliver licked his lips. "Open it," he said, like it was a challenge.

"It's a paperweight," Chloe declared in defeat, her voice soft. And then, seeing the look on Oliver's face, Chloe sighed. She tore open the wrapper. Her eyes widened at the sight of the luxurious velvety sheet on the box. "It's gorgeous," she said breathlessly. "I mean, it's no satellite," she said quickly. "And of course I'm joking." Chloe licked her lips, then popped open the box. A white and red gold watch sat inside, the face mother of pearl and surrounded by glittering diamonds. "Oh my God." She thrust the box back towards Bruce like she had been burned.

"It's not a paperweight, is it?"

"You're going to cause trouble, Mr Wayne."

Bruce scoffed. "Your editor will not reprimand you for a watch."

Chloe stifled a retort about the watch and her paycheck. Instead she pushed the box into Bruce Wayne's hands. "That watch is more money than I can imagine."

She felt Oliver's eyes boring in the back of her head.

"Take the gift," Bruce advised. "It's a show of gratitude. It's not polite to refuse. I'll trust you more if I know there's at least one selfish bone in your body that lets you enjoy a nice gift, Ms Jones." He leaned close to her, and in the periphery of her vision she saw Oliver fist his hand at his side. Bruce whispered into her ear, "If you say no I've got to think there's something bigger out there than your purported need to see me step out and step up."

The conversation would not end. Chloe had now been used to a hero as stubborn as a mule. For now, at least, she let it go. She gave Bruce a frozen smile and thanked him. "Ms Jones, I'd like to have a word with Mr Wayne if you don't mind."

Bruce threw Oliver an amused look. "Always as smooth as silk, Queen." He held up a finger in a gesture of patience. Chloe imagined Oliver breaking the man's finger and all hell breaking loose—complete with flying meteor-tipped arrows and the computer-activated stars she had watched the two billionaire manufacture. Bruce returned his attention to Chloe as he snapped the lock of the gold watch, letting the loose bracelet dangle around her wrist.

It was beautiful, expensive. Oliver looked like he hated it.

"Thank you, Ms Jones."

Chloe released a breath. "You're welcome, Mr Wayne. Like I said, the story was part of the job."

"And what a wonderful job you did," Bruce replied with a gentle smile. "I'd like to see you again when I'm back in town. Or maybe you can visit me in Gotham for a weekend."

"Bruce," Oliver said sharply. "You might want to table the flirtation until we're done talking business."

Chloe winced at the interruption. Oliver's voice was brisk, and she was sure she would hear about the entire thing later. She cleared her throat. The watch was heavy around her wrist now. "You two talk," she said, dismissing herself. "I'll head out. Early day in the office tomorrow polishing up your interview for the presses, Mr Wayne." Bruce had discarded the box on the bar beside him, but Chloe moved to reach for the black card with the cursive B. Just the black card and she would have been happy. It told her that he had accepted the role she had worked to convince him to do. She brushed up against Bruce's body and he did not move away. The arrogant jerk just had to make it more complicated with a gift.

She knew gifts made things so complicated. Not all men acquiesced with as much patience as her husband.

Chloe made her way across the ballroom floor and stopped at the coat check. "Anne Jones," she said to the coat check lady. The woman left a few seconds and handed her the light cream coat. Chloe slipped into the coat and enjoyed the luxurious lining inside.

It had been Oliver's gift one month after their drunken wedding. She had found it sitting on the bed when she slipped into their bedroom after investigating a drug cartel, as she stumbled in the darkness of their home and found the cold dinner sitting on the table with the burned out candles. She had found him asleep on the bed in his slacks and dress shirt. She climbed into the bed behind him and wrapped her arms around him, then rubbed her cold nose against his ear. "Sorry," she had whispered.

He woke up at the uncomfortable coolness of her skin and opened his eyes. Oliver smiled gently, then wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled him down over his body. "That's what I get for marrying a career-minded girl," he murmured as he kissed her neck. Chloe had laughed until he said, "Happy one month anniversary, Chloe." And the laughter ended.

"I love it when you say my name," she whispered to him. She never realized how much she missed her name until everywhere she turned people called her by a different one. "I don't feel like a stranger with you."

Oliver nodded. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table, then took her hand, splayed her fingers with his. Chloe watched as he drew the wedding ring from where she left it every morning when she let her identity fall away and another take its place. Oliver slid the ring onto her finger and said, "I always know who you are." Even when a full month had passed she could not help the rush of tears in her eyes whenever she was faced with the indelible reminder that she was a wife. His. Even when she lived most of the day hiding it from the world. "I will always love who you are."

Someday she had promised him then, the world would see them, know them. But the life she had built in Star City required another name, another person. And the marriage was between Oliver Queen and a woman who did not exist. Sooner or later—she wondered how soon it would be—a city worker in Metropolis or some other, would stumble across the marriage certificate and leak to the world that the billionaire got hitched. And then the hunt for Chloe Sullivan would begin. "And I would happily vanish behind you then."

"You would never disappear behind me. You're too bright. You might even eclipse me, like the Watchtower eclipsed the Green Arrow every damn day you were missing."

She had shaken her head. In their bed, married without a question of whether it was right or wrong, she knew without a doubt that when the time came she would happily become the wife of someone as legendary as her hero. "But right now, I need to fulfill my mission and guide these new heroes." Chloe laid her hand on his chest, stared at the blinding diamond on her finger. "Come on," she urged him. She sat up on the bed and pulled him up with her. "I want dinner. I'll heat it up for you. What did you make?"

Oliver made her work to pull him up, and she laughed and grunted as she bore the heavy weight of him. Fair enough, she thought. He cooked, and she was pretty sure he was going to wash the dishes anyway.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

AN: I'm trying to find a way to express my gratitude for your reviews. I keep changing this AN over and over until I realized the best way to thank the people reading is to post this already. So… thank you, and please enjoy.

**Part 2**

She was the life to which his dark world ended, the death with which his long days started.

Oliver opened his eyes and looked at her, his eyes warm on the slope of her back. Her pale skin glowed under the sunlight, the freckles and marks on her skin endearing to him like the faded scars they had spoken about once upon a time. He shook himself free of the memories of his nightmares. He swore the darkness of the pitch black nights would never creep into his home. Nightmares, he told himself, were products of fear and exhaustion, of late night movies or the very vocation he had taken. Nightmares, he said, had no place in his marriage.

He sat up on the bed and moved closer to her, close enough that he could brush his lips on the nape of his neck. For an hour and half more he could call her Chloe, and he would not waste the precious time talking about dreams that faded with the night.

'Morning," he said.

She turned her head and smiled down at him, without another beat she lowered her lips and captured his. "Had a good night?" she asked. "Because I had, with your arms around me."

He wondered if his embrace tightened in the middle of the night, when in his nightmares his hands wrapped around her throat and his thumbs pressed into the bone. Oliver winced, and the small change in his expression made her frown.

"Ollie," she prompted at once.

Oliver gave her a small smile then shrugged. With a kiss on the back of her shoulder he placed his hands on her hips. She grimaced briefly, and at that Oliver looked down at the bare skin of her hips. Finger-shaped bruises marked either side of her body. He glanced abruptly up and met her eyes. "Last night?" he asked. The tips of his fingers traced the outline of the discoloration. And then he remembered the rush and the fury in the alley, and Oliver drew back like he was burned.

Chloe grabbed his hand. "Hey," was her quick exclamation. "It's okay."

"It's not. It's never okay." He looked down at the marks on her pale skin, wondered how many times she had been bruised or wounded—many times he was sure—that she would ever think it was a non-incident, that she could shrug off the hurt, that she would not even think less of him for it. "You should have stopped me."

And then her lips were on his and his protest died in his throat. His eyes drifted shut in his surprise. "I love you," she said softly.

And he replied, "I love you too, but that doesn't mean a thing when I hurt you."

"You would never hurt me intentionally. I know that," she assured him.

His vision burned with the recollection of the night before, when in his dreams he was strong and so powerful, so much beyond his own control that he squeezed the life out of her, waited until she was blue and folding before him, crumpled to the floor. He hated that nightmare, hated even more that he could not forget.

"Besides," she said to him, "I couldn't really stop you."

For a beat he thought he was used such force, and that the nightmare was real and he had attacked his wife.

"Nor was I really itching too." And she was pulling him towards her. When he was so close she bent back on the bed until he was pressed up on top of her. "You were wonderful last night." Her hands rested on his ass. And then slowly she drew her fingers under his shirt, running her fingertips over his back. He noticed the soreness of his skin then. "And I seem to remember I gave you as good as I got. I seem to have done some damage too."

She had cried last night, groaned, swore and moaned while he pushed inside of her. With her back pressed against the wall she had latched on to his back like she was afraid she could fall any time. He stiffened at the memory of the way she had cried out his name. Chloe squirmed underneath him. When he met her gaze the look she gave him was hot, full of need. He licked his lips as she parted her legs underneath him and he found himself straining against her opening. His eyes drifted to her throat as she swallowed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked gently. "I wasn't gentle last night."

"I don't want you gentle. I want you," she told him.

Oliver held her gaze. He nodded once, and then he guided himself into her. Halfway inside her, he grunted as her muscles clamped around him tightly. She took a deep breath. When he hit a spot inside her that had thrilled her a hundred times before, her eyes flew wide open and she opened her mouth to gasp. Her image stilled in his brain, and then rapidly collided with the memory of his nightmare—when she screamed in silence under his assault.

He pulled out of her abruptly, moving away from her grasping hands. Oliver sat on the sheets and looked down at his hands. Chloe called his name, then turned on her side on the bed. She curled up on the sheets. He turned to look at her, ashamed, knowing he had left her without seeing this through the end, not having giving her what she needed.

"Ollie," she said softly, "what's going on?"

"I'm sorry," he answered.

She bit her lower lip, and Oliver could see the discomfort in her as she sat up on the bed. Her thighs were clamped tightly shut under her as she moved closer to him. She laid a hand on his back. "We should talk." But when he looked at her all he saw was an image of her, half on and half off the bed, over rumpled sheets while the sliver of moonlight streamed through the windows and glowed on her naked stomach.

It was a dream.

It was a nightmare.

And still he was deafened by a mute scream, debilitated by the power in his hands that was strong enough to kill her.

"I'll call in sick," she told him. "Spend the day indoors." It was more than she had offered before, when she was headlong in her mission to land the most scandalous stories and the biggest headlines. In two weeks she made it to the front page of the Star City Register. This was more than what she would be willing to offer anyone else. His wife never did sloth, never stayed home when there was news to be written and heroes to inspire. "We can spend the day together."

It was the thing he wanted, not when he seemed to blank out the world and remember that fucking nightmare.

"I have a full day at work," he said, a lame excuse, one she was too intelligent to believe but too understanding to deny.

"Tonight," she told him. "Let's talk tonight. I'm all yours at seven, and then you have to tell me what's going on, Ollie."

He looked at her for the longest moment, and he did not break the gaze. Instead he held on, long, hard. He memorized her face. Oliver took her hand in his, felt the bite of the wedding ring that was not beautiful enough in his estimation, did not come near to the level which she reached in her perfection.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, brushing his lips on the back of her hand.

"Stop saying that, Ollie. You haven't done a thing you need to regret."

He was always her hero. Even when his nightmares were filled with images of her, with uncontrollable actions that pushed him to be someone even he himself was afraid of, she looked at him like he was her hero, like he could do no wrong, like he was a gift she waited for her entire life.

Later she pulled the ring off, hung it from the necklace just long enough that the ring dangled between her breasts. He pulled the shirt over her body, hiding it from sight. At least she was not going to leave it in the drawer, the silent agreement they reached the night before. He was comforted by the knowledge that with her there was no need to be concerned, that no one would ever see beyond the surface of what she allowed—and no one else would know her as anyone beyond the identity she had created for herself.

When she slipped into the black slingback heels she straightened and smiled at him. "Well," she said, clipping the ID over her breast, "Anne Jones is off to find news stories."

"Anne Jones looks beautiful," he answered. He reached up and touched the stark black letters of his proximity card. "And has an article about Bruce Wayne that she needs to write."

There was some triumph he took when a moment of panic flashed in her eyes. She had forgotten.

There was only so much she could remember in the events that unfolded, and his wife would always choose to remember him over anyone else.

She turned to the door, and he called her back. "Mrs Queen." The name flew from his lips like an incantation, a blessing. Chloe turned to look at him, because wearing a different mask she was always Chloe, always been Chloe to him; despite the fact that no one else knew or acknowledged it, she was a Queen now. She arched her eyebrows, waiting for him to say the words. "I love you."

And her smile grew, the same bright smile he searched for in trains and the streets when he had thought he lost her. "I love you too," she replied. And after the nightmare it was a balm, a soothing shower.

"Take the car," he reminded her. With a flourish Chloe raised her hand, displaying the keys that jangled from her finger. "That's my girl," he murmured.

At that Chloe arched an eyebrow and cocked her head. She grimaced at the use of the word. "Girl?"

"Just give me that one," he said lightly. Oliver laid back on the bed and watched her , his body tense. When the door shut behind her, Oliver rose from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection, wondering whether she saw the sunken eyes, the tautness of his lips.

And then the mirror morphed and wavered before him. Oliver's wide eyes waited in awe. Around him the bathroom darkened until all he could see was the dim light above the bathtub. He narrowed his eyes and focused on that one spot. To his awe he found himself struck cold and still watching what was taking place before him.

"Chloe," he whispered.

And like a dream Oliver saw his wife soaking in the bubbles. She turned, and their gazes collided in the mirror. Her face was bare, moist. She rested her arms on the side of the tub, then placed her chin on her wet arm. "Hi Ollie."

He almost heard her. Her voice reverberated inside the bathroom walls. Even knowing she was not there, even while wondering what nightmare he had stepped into, Oliver shuddered at the caress in her voice, felt the pool of sensation at the small of his back. To get control over his feelings he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then grasped the edges of the sink. The first thing he noticed was the warm, sticky sensation at his feet. His eyes flew open and he looked down, and there was a dark red pool on the tiles.

He looked up and he was no longer in front of the mirror. Instead he was right in front of her, looking down at her, looking down at the dripping blood from her wrists. He knelt in the blood, and he ignored the warmth of it that reminded him of sitting in front of the fireplace in his parents' home. He grasped her wrist and pressed on the ugly cut. Her hair covered her face, so Oliver pushed it aside so he could see her.

Her lips were pale; her eyes empty and open and he shuddered at the sight. Oliver released her and backed away so fast he fell on his ass.

His heart raced. Oliver gasped, shook himself free and opened his eyes. He was back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, more exhausted than he had ever been before, Oliver pulled himself out of the bed. He glanced at the clock and found that he had slept in for two more hours. Almost reluctantly he made his way to the bathroom. The lights there had returned to normal. Oliver took a deep breath. The first thing he looked at was the empty tub.

Oliver turned back into the bedroom and opened the laptop. Like always—which he and Chloe had learned to ignore and not be drawn by—the image of the Watchtower blinked green. Online. Always. Now that he had a chance to spend what was as close to real life as he could with his wife, Oliver recognized how valid her desire had been to leave the tower behind.

They would not waste their decision to run away. If what he suspected was real, he needed to act. Now.

"Tess," he said into the computer. The empty space he saw was then filled with Tess. She broke into a smile when she saw him. Sometimes he forgot how lonely that life was. "I need you to find a way to get me an x-ray machine. Anonymously."

Her eyebrows rose. "In Star City?" Tess shook her head. "Oliver Queen to be anonymous in Star City. You give me the best challenges, Oliver." She turned to another computer, typing rapidly. The keystrokes stopped abruptly. She looked back at him. "Wait. You're asking me, not your wife. She doesn't know—" The quick way she put it all together was admirable. Even he admitted it. "Oliver, you can't hide this."

"I can't," he agreed. "But I need to take this one step at a time."

"You don't really think…"

Oliver nodded. "I have the darkness in me, Tess."

"We don't know that yet," Tess responded, her voice somber, her face stubborn. "Just wait. I'll get you what you need."

Oliver nodded, waited in tense silence as she worked. The nightmares would leap from his brain to his reality, slowly, one by one. The darkness that he suspected was growing inside him prepared him for the coming, killing him piece by piece, desensitizing him until there was nothing in his head but horror and pain.

Nothing he would recognize—no love, no memories, even of her kiss.

In the darkness, once he completely sank, Oliver wondered if he would even remember her name.

**One hour ago**

Chloe shut the car door behind her. The car automatically locked, and she looked around the building parking lot and scanned the place for strangers. Even after building a new life old habits were hard to lose. Her heels were noisy on the ground as she made her way across the lot.

Within the space of a minute she realized she was not alone. Chloe slipped her hand into her purse. Her hand fisted when she realized there was no phone inside, that it had only just been stolen, that she had acquiesced when Oliver told her he was going to buy her a new one that was foolproof and would let him keep her safe. In other words, everything he had wanted since the day they left Smallville—the best GPS, an intelligent tracking mechanism and a silent alarm system that connected directly to his phone.

Foolproof enough, except for the glorious stupidity that it would take a full week to customize, and she was at the moment without any way even to text him. She thought that two intelligent people like Oliver and Chloe Queen would have seen that gaping hole in that plan before she even stepped out of the door.

She turned around and found him standing a few feet away. At the sight, she released the breath she held.

"Mr Wayne!" she gasped. Chloe put a hand on her chest, felt her racing heart. "You scared me."

"Did I?" was his answer, and immediately she suspected that this visit was unlike the ones before. Every encounter before Star City it was she that initiated. But that was because she was tracking down the Batman, coaxing him out of the darkness, willing him to work greater causes.

Something small and shiny blinked in the air as he tossed it towards her. Chloe caught it and looked down, saw the broken face of the watch.

"You're not a very good caretaker of gifts. I found it in an alley."

Slowly she raised her gaze towards him. Chloe licked her lips. There was nothing to say really.

If someone else had stumbled there the watch would be gone. Her heart froze when she realized how it was that he could have known so quickly. Her eyes narrowed. Then again, what could she have expected from the neurotic, paranoid billionaire. "You put a bug on me," she realized.

Bruce Wayne did not bother to deny it. He knew her well enough, at least as Anne Jones, that he did not need any pretenses. "Who are you?" Instead he nodded towards the car that Oliver insisted she take. "That obviously cannot have been from a reporter's salary, no matter how much of an ingénue you proved to be."

"Maybe I can't tell you," she said, as close to an admission of her identity as she could go.

"So you have a right to my secrets, to stalk the hell out of me until you knew everything, but you can't give me the same respect?" he demanded. "You're not Anne Jones, and you are not from Star City."

"How do you know that?" she asked softly.

He walked towards her, closer and closer until he was barely two feet away. Even his movements were calculated, she realized when she saw the surveillance camera's angle. He was the perfect distance that anything that occurred between them now would be hidden from view. Between them, from his pocket, he produced the driver's license that had been in her wallet.

"You bastard," she murmured when she realized what he had done. "You bugged me."

"How do you know I didn't catch the thugs that held you up?" He leaned closer. "I am the Batman, in case you forget. I'm a vigilante, and you were in distress."

Chloe stared straight into his eyes and declared, "Bullshit."

Bruce chuckled, then raised the license. "This address is for an empty lot. Which I own," he stressed. "You make it so damn easy, Anne." And even closer he drew. Chloe held her breath, but she could feel his when he exhaled. They were so close. "I can't wait to find out your real name, because all this would hit even harder if I was throwing it to your face using everything you're hiding."

"I don't know what the hell you're implying. I helped you. Remember that."

When he did not respond immediately, Chloe took it as a sign of her win. She turned on her heel and walked.

"You and Queen."

She froze in her tracks.

"I've seen the way he looked at you yesterday," he told her. "And even before having the time to check it out, I am willing to bet a hundred grand that that modest little Porsche is his."

Chloe turned her head. "You caught me."

He grinned in triumph.

"You know my secret now. Star City Register's newest reporter fell for those boyish good looks and spent the night with Oliver Queen. I'm a slut, and he's rich enough to lend me a car instead of letting me do the walk of shame to the bus stop. You want me to write that up for you and submit it to my editor? I'm pretty certain his front page is too full with real news to bother asking for your byline." Chloe scoffed and threw up her hands, then chuckled as she walked away. "Big news!" she mocked him. "Some woman slept with Star City's Oliver Queen. Hold the presses. It's so breaking I could die!"

"Anne!"

Chloe took a deep breath when she was far enough away, then picked up her pace.

"Anne," he barked again.

After the tender way Oliver had said her name over and over through the night, Bruce's displeased, demanding call was unacceptable. When she reached the entrance to the building, Chloe almost bumped into him. Dammit. She should really have remembered how quick these heroes were.

"What do you want, Bruce?"

He licked her lips. Bruce Wayne handed her the purse that was stolen last night. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep."

She tamped down the urge to burst into laughter. Overstepping was the very first thing he meant to do, and the ridiculous claim was not helping her forgive him.

"You have to admit you put me in a terrible situation," he said.

And he officially became the worst person in the world when it came to apologies.

"You knew all my secrets and I didn't know anything about you besides your irritatingly common name."

He had a point. She would have done the same thing. Oliver had stepped out of the shadows, made his bed, and she had chosen to share it for a lifetime. Bruce Wayne had not made that choice, was fiercely protective of his identity until she walked into his life and shattered his preconceived notion that he was successful at hiding from the world.

Chloe grabbed her purse and checked the contents. Everything was inside, even the broken watch.

"Next time you want to know anything more, ask."

And he did. "Who are you?"

"Anne Jones," she replied.

"You're not from here."

"I'm not." She glanced towards the building. "I have to go."

"You said ask. Well I have another question."

The stubbornness brought a small smile to her reluctant lips. "What?"

"Setting aside your horrible taste in men—"

"That's not a question."

She tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm. "Let me try again. You obviously have horrible taste in men. I fit right in. And I can safely say I'm not going to send you off with my car keys in the morning. I'm a gentleman. I'd drop you off."

Chloe could see the trace of amusement on his face. That alone made what she should have thought offensive a little more endearing. "I'm a professional, Mr Wayne. We're doing great work together."

"Everything I am that no one else can know," he acknowledged. "Think about it. You get me, and even though you won't tell me everything I know I get you. It's hard to find that."

Her heart softened at the confession. Once upon a time she had been as empty as he appeared now. She had the same need, need the she shared with Oliver and he sought to fill every day that followed that confession. "I'm sure you won't be alone for long, Bruce." Chloe walked towards the building entrance, then stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed before her she kept her eyes on him as he watched her go. She rested her head back. The conversation made her yearn for her husband. She was never going to be as alone and as lost as Bruce Wayne. Never again, because Oliver never gave up for a second on what they had.

Chloe took her phone from the purse, dialed Oliver's number. She would figure out later how to explain that everything she lost, Bruce Wayne returned.

Now she just wanted to hear his voice, hear Oliver call her by her name.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was dreaming of her.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

**Part 3**

Chloe rejected the incoming call, then slipped her phone into her pocket.

It was nothing close to the place that Oliver had gotten for the two of them. The wall was bare except for white paint. At least it was clean. Really, if she bought it she could just build upon the naked walls, maybe hang a few—

Well she could not hang photographs of her friends and her family, not for the purpose that the place was intended.

It was not even close to Jimmy's gift. As much of a fixer upper as it was, the Watchtower was a huge space with large windows that let light stream in merrily.

But it was in Star City and believable on a journalist's budget. Unless she wanted the IRS or Bruce Wayne to constantly be on her case, then this was the perfect solution. Chloe wondered how she would get financing for the place using a brand new identity and no credit history, but she figured that was something she could fix on her own with a few hacks here and there.

When Oliver arrived, hooded and hidden like he had been in Smallville during the height of the VRA issue, Chloe broke into a grin. She hesitated at first, allowed him to have a look around. "Sorry for the short notice," she said to him. It was at the end of her work day, yet early enough that she knew Oliver was still blocked for conference calls. She was impressed by how efficiently he moved his appointments around to come when she called.

"You called," he said simply. "And I will always come." He sounded different, odd, somber when he should have been lighter, flirtier. Chloe looked up at him in surprise. He was so attuned to her that almost immediately he took her hand. "If I have anything to say about it, nothing's going to stop me."

So she nodded, then nodded towards the simple one-bedroom unit. "What do you think?"

"It depends. Why do you need a place of your own?"

She searched his face. The real estate agent would meet her there, in her rush to check the place the woman had not had enough time to commute. Chloe stepped closer to her husband and pulled down the sunglasses that barely hid the fact that he was Oliver Queen. It was just the two of them, and she loved it when neither of them had to hide. Chloe laid her palm on his chest. When she did he broke into a smile, grasped the hand that wore her wedding ring.

"You're trying to distract me," he said with a small smile.

And she was. No use denying it.

The phone vibrated in her pocket, and she ignored it until the vibration stopped.

Chloe knew Oliver, and Oliver's frustrations and little pleasures the past few weeks, that she knew wearing the ring would soften the blow. "It's part of the identity," she told him. "Writing down that parking lot address on my ID wasn't my best sleuth move. It was amateur, and I've been found out."

He frowned. "We've lived like this for more than a month and this has never been an issue."

She bit her lip. Her next revelation was sure to frustrate him. He had never had a problem with Bruce Wayne before, not even when she talked about making the man's acquaintance and working with him when she was traveling, waiting for her opportunity to bring the Squad down around Oliver's team. Since he met the man again, since seeing how Bruce interacted with her, Oliver's viewpoint had drastically changed.

Not that she could blame him, Chloe decided after the latest encounter with Bruce.

"I wasn't being scrutinized before," Chloe pointed out. "Now I am. Wayne."

His eyes narrowed. "This is about Bruce Wayne?"

Chloe spotted a young couple that made their way into the living room, eagerly exploring the open house. That was apparently the type of financial capacity that her selected place attracted. The two seemed fresh out of college, on their first jobs. Chloe dragged her husband by the hand to the kitchen area where they had privacy. Oliver glanced around the room, with its modest furnishings and simple design. He was unimpressed. Chloe expected the reaction. She had been overwhelmed when he had playfully carried her across the threshold of the penthouse apartment he had privately owned and declared their first home together. Even at his apologetic demeanor, their home was a dozen times sleeker, more polished, more comfortable than this.

"Listen," she began, with urgency in her voice that was impossible to deny. "Bruce confronted me earlier today. He doesn't trust me," she said. "So I had to tell him. About us." At his obvious relief, Chloe continued, "Not all of it. I couldn't explain it all."

"What did you tell him?"

"He knows that we slept together," Chloe relayed. "He thinks we left the party together and I spent the night at your place."

At the revelation, Oliver scowled. "So suddenly my wife is relegated to a one night stand." His voice rose at the end, in disbelief, in protest.

"This is actually good, Ollie," she rushed to reassure him. "If he thinks we slept together and you sent me on my way, then he wouldn't question me when I slip and I look at you the way a lot of women tend to do."

"You're not all other women." He sighed in frustration. "And the fact that I need to tell you that shows you how screwed up this arrangement is. You're my wife."

"He can't know that. Nobody can," she insisted. "Not without raising so many questions. Who am I? Chloe Sullivan doesn't exist."

He took a deep breath. The way he looked at her was unfamiliar, strange, and Chloe wondered if the secrecy was too much now. But her husband was Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow for so many years before the entire world even had a clue. Secrecy and hidden identities were part and parcel of the man he was. One secret as simple as hers would not shatter him.

He was the strongest man she knew, stronger even than Clark—and her best friend was a superman.

"You know damn well we need to act on that. Soon," Oliver reminded her. "I can't even update any of the papers at Queen."

At those gentle words Chloe relaxed. She linked her hands at his nape and pulled him down for a kiss. When their lips parted ever so slightly, she looked at him. "Maybe I have a selfish reason for balking on that," she confessed.

"And what is that, Mrs Queen?" he asked. He brushed his nose on hers.

"Maybe I don't want to think about last wills, or even think about possibly waking up one day to find that you're gone."

"With the life we lead, Chloe, you have to be prepared."

Out of so many dangers in her life, this was the only prospect that she feared then. Gently, lightly, Chloe rested her hand on his chest. "There are a hundred other ways to leave this marriage than dying on me, Oliver." When he opened his mouth to address that, she shook her head, "I don't want to hear about it."

She could see the sad smile on his face. "You sound like a child right now, Mrs Queen," he whispered.

"If you love me, you're not going leave me."

But there were times when leaving was the best thing to do. She of all people knew. She of everyone could recognize the hypocrisy of denying that. She had walked away from him once when she could not bear to lose him and it was the only way she knew to save him. She had almost walked away when she thought for sure their love was secondary to his purpose.

That apartment, that simple room, was nothing special. And yet it seemed like the grandest abode when the broker arrived and told them about the design, about the family that lived there. When it was obvious that the agent did not recognize Oliver in his disguise, Chloe found it refreshing that she could hold Oliver's hand and he could wrap his arm around her waist. She leaned against him as they listened to the broker.

For a precious half hour she was neither Chloe nor Anne. And he was not the Green Arrow, not billionaire Oliver Queen. For that short moment in time they were newlyweds looking at place to settle down.

"You make a beautiful couple," the broker told them, and even though she knew it was a line used on every newlywed she could not help but feel the warmth suffuse her. "What was the wedding like?"

And it was the woman who usually answered. At least that was what Chloe deduced when the question was directed only at her. "I don't even remember," she said honestly. She felt the quick shift of his relaxed stance to tension, almost imperceptible, but she had countless nights lying against him she recognized every little shift of his body.

The broker's brows rose in surprise. And she broke into a big smile, ever the saleswoman, so easily and conveniently followed up with, "Vegas?"

"What happens in Vegas stays there?" Chloe responded. She shook her head. Her hand wrapped around Oliver's. A touch always relaxed him. She looked up at him because she knew even at his most desperate—in that virtual reality where he was bound and trapped—a look into her earnest eyes could bring him back. "We were married in Metropolis."

And just as she expected, the look and the words brought a small smile to his lips. He leaned down and kissed her, quickly, but passionately enough she gasped for breath afterwards.

"Don't take this place," he told her, and the plea was so earnest. "We have a home."

And there was nothing she could do other than to turn to the broker and shake her head. They exited the apartment building, and Oliver rested his hand on the small of her back. Chloe took the car keys from her bag, but her husband pushed her hand down and said, "I brought a car."

Chloe cocked her head to the side. "You want me to leave the Porsche."

He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in his scent. She was grateful that night had already fallen. They would not be able to stand outside wrapped in each other if it was still light out.

Chloe slipped into the car and Oliver took the driver seat. The interior of the car was dark; the dashboard glowed green and orange and yellow. In the pitch blackness he reached for her hand. Chloe turned to Oliver in the darkness, brushed her thumb over his jawline. "Hello Mr Queen," she said quietly, her heart swelling at the sight. He was beautiful, more beautiful than she ever imagined she deserved. And now…

The diamond on her ring sparkled and winked, impossible to miss, even in the dark.

Oliver turned his head and pressed a kiss in the palm of her hand. "Chloe," he said. Even the sound of her name was enough to tell her that there was something. It hovered in the small space between them, and suddenly even the confines of the car was too wide, too yawning, too much to close.

She remembered the short conversation that he had begun lightly enough, dropping the hints like he was still in love.

He was going to leave.

He was going to leave and her heart splintered. She had never hated herself more once she realized what she felt was exactly what she had made him feel when she walked away.

Her lashes fluttered, and she looked down at her lap. Chloe then looked out the tinted window, focusing instead of the black night outside. There was nothing to see, but the emptiness was far better than looking at his shadowed face while he was breaking her heart.

"Chloe," he said her name again, and she heard him urging her to look. When she did not, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face. Slowly, his lips flitted over hers, like butterfly wings, and Chloe breathed out unsteadily, her exhale tremulous with stifled sobs.

"No," she whispered.

He was not going to do this. He was not going to leave after breaking her down so much, after making her admit she loved him, after loving her so much she had been willing to sacrifice her freedom for him. He was not going to rip open old wounds that were just scars now, not going to be the one who walked away after pulling her down from the ivory tower and letting her experience was living truly was.

And suddenly her desperation was suffused with anger. "No!" she realized. Chloe beat on his chest. She would not go quietly into the night. Rage, she remembered those immortal words. This was the dying of the light, and she would rage against this death. "You're not going to do this to me, Ollie. This is not fair."

He did not ask her how she knew. But Oliver rested his chin on the top of her head and waited until her fists slowed. And then she felt him rest his lips on her temple. "When I lost you," he said as she slowly regained her breathing, "I felt like a complete failure because I couldn't protect you."

What did half a year ago have to do with today? How did it change the fact that they had sworn to be together forever?

And then Chloe sniffled, pulled away so she could look at him, hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. She swallowed, then said in a rush, "You want us to come out. You want to be able to tell everyone that we're married. You hate Anne Jones."

He shook his head.

"I can be your wife. I can be Chloe. I can be a Queen. I don't care about my secret identity. I don't care about starting over, Oliver. Not if it's going to cost me you."

She was the strongest person that he knew. That was the woman he had fallen in love with. This begging and pleading was demeaning, but right then she did not care about pride.

"Please, Ollie." She bit her lower lip. "If you tell me what you want, what we need to change, we'll make it work."

"Chloe," he said firmly, his hand closing over her arm, "I haven't stopped loving you, not for a split second."

"You're not leaving?" She hated the whisper soft weakness in her voice. Chloe pressed kisses along his jaw.

"I have the darkness inside me."

Her heart stopped.

The shame, the fear—they rang clear and loud in the confession. Chloe raised her head and she met his eyes. She reached above them and switched on the interior light. She shook her head, narrowed her eyes. "No. No, Desaad didn't capture you. It was me. He tried to turn me."

He swallowed. "He told me you were dead."

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, defeat washing over her. "He got to you. The bastard got to you."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Chloe. I was too weak to resist him—"

"It's not your fault," Chloe insisted.

"This was my weakness, and now I can feel it creeping in me, flitting around in my skull, giving me visions. I can't hurt you, Chloe."

"You won't," she assured him. And now it came together, the pain in his eyes when he saw the bruises, the way he seemed so far away in his head before he physically pulled away from her. "You would never hurt me."

"There's going to be a time when the darkness takes me over, Chloe. And then everything I am is going to be lost." He shook his head, told her again what he had said many times before. "I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire."

"I won't. I'll be standing behind you, Oliver." And then she grasped his face with both of her hands. She glanced at the winking diamond that graced her hand, the sight of it strengthening her resolve. "And no matter what happens, I know you're going to remember what you promised me when I came home to you—"

He seemed almost afraid, but he nodded and repeated the words he told her when she was lost and searching for a way to define herself against him. Oliver met her gaze, did not waver, repeated the words, "No matter what happens I know who you are."

"Yes, you do. And you will." And their mouths slanted together, deep, lasting and firm. Chloe's hands grasped his back, and Oliver gripped her upper arms as they pressed so close and tight they almost vanished into each other. "We've faced danger several times before, Oliver. Whenever we faced them apart everything went to hell. The team split up, people died, you were kidnapped and I went missing," Chloe enumerated. "Well that's not going to happen this time, Ollie. This time we stand together."

The phone in her pocket vibrated once again. It was negligible then. Her entire world, all her focus, was on her husband.

"Promise," she prompted.

Oliver nodded, then said, "I promise." He took a breath. "You're far braver a hero than I ever will be, Chloe."

Bravery. Strength.

They were funny little concepts. Both of those she found in her husband every time she saw him, every time she heard him. Since finding out about the darkness, Chloe had shown him, told him, everything she thought he needed to know. And she was brave in the way she stood, displayed her strength whenever she took his hand and told him she knew more and more about the darkness that was as much a mystery to her then as it had been when they first started researching.

Exhausted, Oliver crawled into their shared bed fully clothed. Chloe placed her bag on the bedside table, then took the keys and her phone from her pocket and slipped them inside. She ignored the multiple missed calls on the screen, knew it was Bruce Wayne. But Anne Jones did not have the time to address all the heroes who knew to call her. She was Chloe right then, would be Chloe to the one man who mattered above them all.

Chloe shed the clothing she wore to work and left them on the floor. In her bra and slip Chloe climbed into the bed and laid behind him. His steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. It was so quickly that he sank into oblivion that Chloe realized how long he had held in the torturous secret, wondered how little he slept since. When she rested her hand on his arm Oliver flinched in his sleep. She pressed a kiss on the back of his shoulder.

The morning found her in front of her computer, communicating with the Watchtower and scanning news stories searching for information on the darkness. She had called in for a few days off, and Chloe thanked her editor for asking very few questions. The loud gasp from the bed startled her. Chloe rose from her seat and made her way to the bed.

"Oliver!" she said, shaking him out of his nightmares.

His eyes shot open and for a split second he stared back at her in shock. And then, upon realizing what had happened, he sat up on the bed and held her tight.

She was not going to ask. Making him relive the experience would just be cruel. Instead she rubbed her hand up and down his back and whispered into his ear, "We're okay, Ollie. We're safe."

**One hour ago**

The black leather of his cape was heavy and loud when the Batman hit the pavement in front of the apartment building. There were hundreds of steps to trace, maybe thousands. But he would trace them all. Throughout the afternoon and the night he had called. Anne Jones never missed an SOS, not since the day he met her, not since the day they worked together to bring down a Gotham crime lord.

Just like he suspected, Anne had removed the tracking chip he had put on her phone. If—when he found her he was going to have to talk to her seriously about being on GPS. He just hoped he was not too late. She had been missing for almost an entire day.

He recognized the abandoned Porsche immediately. Bruce scanned the surroundings and spotted a surveillance camera in the store across the street. He made his way back to his hotel room and hacked the police database, then pulled the recording from the night before.

Oliver Queen. He recognized the stance despite the ridiculous costume. The man was a fool if he truly thought it was an effective disguise against people who had actually interacted with him.

Oliver Queen was the last person seen with Anne Jones before the reporter mysteriously disappeared.

Bruce sat in front of his computer and opened the folder containing all research documents that his program scanned over the night, looked through every one of the digital traces in the last months to determine if there was anything in particular that would catch his eye. Metropolis seemed to include a bulk of his newsworthy activities. Of course, Bruce realized, it came part and parcel with the man's decision to come out as the vigilante Green Arrow.

His hand fisted. Anne Jones could have approached the man in her mission to inspire heroes.

Oliver had taken advantage and slept with her. Either way, he needed to find Anne, and the best path was through Oliver Queen.

As he scanned through the files, one entry in particular caught his attention.

That bastard.

He hoped it was enough to convince Anne Jones that heroes were people too, and most of them were as flawed as Oliver Queen. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the digital entry of the marriage certificate.

Who and where the hell was Chloe Anne Sullivan?

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

**Part 4**

For weeks he did not touch the suit, did not come near it—not once. Chloe laid out the shiny green leather she had admired when he first jumped across rooftops and convinced her of a new definition of a hero that was so different from Clark yet no less than him, often more. It was suit she had come to love when in their year together he stood proud in front of her and she accepted that he was her hero.

For weeks he would not even deign to look at the compound bow that she took out of the gear room and placed at the foot of the bed.

In his dreams he had seen himself fully outfitted as the Emerald Archer when his strong gloved hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed, while she hung limp, her toes inches above the ground. In his nightmares she teased the corners of his mind, but never once could he remember her name, who she was. In the pitch blackness of the room while she tried to hold him close, Oliver talked about the winking diamond on her hand as she tried to loosen his hold, how she had clawed at his fingers, latched on the hand that wore their wedding ring. In that pregnant silence Chloe listened to him when he told her how he killed her that night, in that vision when he could not even say her name, when nothing reminded him that he was Oliver Queen and she was his wife.

"That was a nightmare, nothing more," she told him. In those moments he seemed much smaller than how she always thought of him. "And you can't give up being Green Arrow. This is who you are."

"Maybe I can just be your husband now," he suggested, "and do everything in my power to make sure none of those nightmares happen."

And so she laid a palm on his chest, ignored the racing heartbeat she could feel under her fingers. "You're as much Oliver as you are the Green Arrow. I didn't just fall in love with the man, Ollie."

The legend was a part of their life, and he was that hero. Despite the way it threatened to consume him, Oliver was not the darkness that threatened them.

"Keeping yourself from who you are is only bound to frustrate you. Believe me, you'll feel better with that bow at your fingertips, when you're doing what you were born to do."

He took her hands in his, and somberly he said to her, "Sometimes I think I was born to just be your husband."

She flushed, the pleasure at those words were undeniable. But she shook her head and said to him, "We both know that isn't all you are." And then, in a soft request she insisted, "Be the Green Arrow tonight, and then tell me what you think."

That night Oliver Queen patrolled the city and nailed to the wall with his strong arrows three gunmen who wandered in the alleyways. When he came home he thrummed with energy, and Chloe sat up in bed with a book in her hand and waited as her husband peeled away the green leather vest and put aside his compound bow.

"How does it feel, hero?" was her question. And her voice was not tentative. It was certain, strong, light. After all she knew the answer, waited only for his confirmation.

And in response Oliver broke into a lopsided grin. Her shoulders relaxed. Chloe opened her arms when he climbed into the bed and lay down beside her. Propped up on one elbow Oliver leaned from above her and kissed her neck. Chloe set aside her book and buried her fingers in her hair, chuckled softly when his kisses dipped to the hollow in her throat. Her legs parted as he pushed one leather-clad leg between her knees, and she felt him straining inside.

"You were right," he murmured as his warm lips kissed behind her ear. "You're always right."

And then his mouth dragged over hers, heavily, so strongly their teeth scraped together and her grip hurt him. She did not need to ask more. Instead with a smile she ran her hands up his chest until they cupped his face. Chloe's thumbs brushed across his cheekbones. She looked straight up to meet his eyes as he moved to lie above her. She felt him reach between them and free himself from the green leather. Chloe's fingers intertwined at his nape, and she tightened the way she held on to him when he slowly slid inside her. His lips parted, and he breathed through his mouth slowly as her muscles yielded and parted to make room for him.

Slowly, gently, he moved inside of her, guiding her hips until they moved together in perfect rhythm.

When he came, he came breathing out her name.

Over the weeks Oliver returned slowly but certainly to the life he had been afraid was destroyed by the mark of the darkness. As Oliver took back his life, Chloe emerged beside him in a calculated revelation.

It started with one photograph, one in which she and Oliver Queen stood in the entryway to the building, with Oliver in a suit ready to leave for work and Chloe barefoot on the steps. The magazines brandished the picture like it was breaking news, wondered about the identity of a woman whose face was half blocked by his head as they captured a kiss. This was how they would gently break into a reveal. And it would be in their own terms, not rushed by circumstance and in a desperate attempt to stay together.

Soon enough there were photographs in the magazines of Oliver Queen in the weekend market buying vegetables, and one that followed as he paid with a bill for a bouquet of fresh flowers, walked across the fruit stands, then stopped in front of the anonymous recipient. It was the Star City Register itself who blew up the last picture, where she smiled up at Oliver while clutching the flowers. In the photo his fingers pushed her hair back and tucked in behind her ear, exposing her face to the zoom lens.

Business beat, it was headed. Chloe found it a little tacky, and the caption did not help assuage her concerns. Coverage of Queen Industries strategy would never be covered better than the next few days as the Register's newest reporter owns the beat. And she was grateful the piece was buried inside the gossip section where no self-respecting person ventured.

Weeks after an untimely sabbatical Anne Jones returned to the newspaper, and heads swung in her direction as she made her way back to her desk. By now everyone knew that she was no fling, and even though the relationship that the world concluded existed between Chloe and Oliver did not satisfy him, it was ultimately better than the one night stand route that Chloe had chosen.

"Anne, looks like you have a delivery."

The flowers were extravagant; the card that accompanied the arrangement was simple. Her hand rose to the ring that hung from the chain around her throat. Welcome back, it said. For a minute she was tempted to call her husband at once to thank him. But the fine print at the bottom convinced her to have patience. Rooftop at six, said the discreet type. Her hero in green and she in the newspaper building rooftop—she couldn't completely tell how much and how long she had dreamed of that.

Sometimes she imagined them, with her back against the ledge, her skirt caught around her hips while he gripped her thighs and buried his lips in her, sending her soaring and crashing with a warm, wet tongue.

She bit her lower lip gently, and sufficed with a quick text. 'I love you. I can't wait to see you.'

And with his response of 'Tonight,' Chloe imagined him right behind her, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. She shivered and returned to work.

For the day Chloe wrote her article on Bruce Wayne, to pander to the disguise that required her to move in the Batman's circles, to pick up the life that she had created to win back a semblance of normalcy that she had so easily discarded when she and Oliver hit the greatest obstacle they would ever overcome. The night before Oliver had slept through the night, did not suffer through nightmares where he hurt her, and Chloe swore with the vigilance they had kept, their constant affection, they had defeated the darkness.

She would not lose him, not anymore. Mr and Mrs Queen—she thought with a fond smile—had defeated the darkness.

At the end of the day many of her coworkers had left for a beat or, for those not in the news beat, home. Chloe glanced up to find that her editor-in-chief was caught in an intense phone conversation. She printed off a hard copy of her Bruce Wayne article. Her old school editor never wanted to use the Review function of Word to edit and provide feedback, and she marveled at the fact that the old man was single-handedly keeping the ballpoint pen ink business afloat—particularly the one for red ink. With a brisk knock on the door and a nod from the editor, Chloe slipped inside his office and deposited her article on the table.

"Welcome back, Jones," the man said in his own fond dismissal. Chloe gave a bright smile and hurried outside. To hardcore journalists she was happy that the slowly unfolding relationship she had with Star City's resident billionaire did not matter.

She slipped into the bathroom and washed her face, then quickly brushed some powder foundation on her face, swept on some blush and swiped lip gloss that made her lips sparkle. When Chloe was a child watching her mother put on makeup, Moira had told her that wives needed to be pretty for their husbands, no matter how long they had been married. It was an odd advise to give a daughter the day before you abandoned them, but even then she had a little girl's blind adoration and the lesson remained in her head.

In their short-lived marriage Chloe ensured she was prettier than the day she and Jimmy met on the summer of their internship.

She was certain she had intermittently been presentable in the years she had known Oliver, despite her desire to always look beautiful to him. Chloe was certainly far from attractive when he rushed into the room where Clark had deposited her after saving her from Desaad. And she was sure in the countless times the Green Arrow saved Watchtower she always looked the worse for wear. Looking into his eyes in every occasion though, Chloe saw the exact same look he gave her in those hazy memories she had regained over time when he stood in his ridiculous light green tux and she was swimming in cheap white lace, and he swore to her in a surprisingly sober manner that she was the love of his life, that no one compared, that he knew her the way he know himself.

Chloe took a deep breath as she pushed the roof door open and she slipped into the dark night.

Chloe waited patiently. She glanced at the watch around her wrist. A minute to go. She counted in her head. Chloe felt the wind rush behind her, found the space around her darken even more as his shadow fell over her. With a small smile she turned around and said, "I was beginning to think you weren't coming, Romeo."

The words died in her throat when instead of the shiny green leather she was faced with the pitch black contoured body armor of the Batman.

"And you used to be breathless whenever you saw me in my gear," the Batman said, his voice contorted into an emphasized gruffness.

"The flowers were yours," she said in surprise.

"Did you think they were Queen's?" came the response. "It was the only way to get some time with you."

And he was right in the bitterness that crept in his tone. For the longest time the Batman was a myth, a dark figure that was mentioned only in hushed whispers in the deepest, darkest alleys of Gotham City. But she had found him and coaxed him out, put him in touch with a commissioner who could call for his help with a flash of a sign in the sky. Slowly she had turned the mythical vigilante to a hero, with all the expectations and responsibilities that came along with the change. From petty criminals she had turned him to the most powerful kingpins, from happening upon injustice she had set him up to the grandest operations that brought the Gotham underworld to its knees.

And then, in a spur of the moment, in a shallow decision—to Bruce Wayne—Anne Jones had turned her back to their purpose and exchanged it for the world of hurt he knew waited in Queen's bed.

"I've worked with you for more than half a year, Bruce," she said gently. "This time I need to stop. I need to be with Oliver."

The Batman did not waver. He did not reach forward nor pull back. "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What about all the heroes you've convinced to trust you. Diana has sent you messages asking for your help, Anne. Are you really going to leave all of us hanging?"

She shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Make me."

"He needs me."

He took a device from his belt. What it was exactly, she did not know. It was the genius of Wayne Enterprises that buoyed his heroism. "I didn't want to show you this, but if you insist on blinding yourself to everything else then you need to have all your facts." Almost hesitantly Bruce handed the device to Chloe. She reached for it, looked and pressed to zoom at the familiar document. "You're better than this, Anne. You're better than putting your entire life on hold for a liar like Queen."

They had collapsed into a laughing fit when they signed their names with the flourish of two drunken teenagers. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and yelled in triumphed when he brandished their copy of the marriage certificate. When she and Clark wandered away Chloe tore the certificate in half and handed him his side to keep.

"We'll tape them up together when we're home," she promised him, and plastered her mouth over his while giggling in delight.

Chloe blinked away the hazy, cutting memories. She looked up at Bruce. "I know her. She's dead."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Then you also know that she dropped off the face of the earth. Oliver Queen is the last person to see her alive, Anne."

Chloe swallowed deeply. "Oliver didn't hurt her. Chloe Sullivan is the only reason she's gone."

"Jesus!" the Batman muttered. With the voice contorter the exclamation was ill-fitting. "He has you wrapped around all these lies." Even in his anger Chloe could trace the very real fear in his voice. Fear for her. She was familiar with its tone now. She heard it many times before from Oliver when they spoke about the dreams and the darkness.

His back was to the rooftop stairway, and Chloe almost shook her head at the realization that he had bared himself, made himself so vulnerable. It was one of the few lessons she had taught him in the time they worked together. The Batman had so often lain in wait for the criminals that he had not learned to protect himself in certain ways. As she faced him she was the first to see when Oliver stepped out into the roof, likely informed by the few remaining in the bullpen that they had seen her head this way.

When the Batman grasped her upper arm, Chloe immediately made an effort to pull away. His black-clad hand tightened around her. She saw the almost imperceptible way that Oliver's stance changed.

"Bruce, you don't know what you're doing. You don't want to do this."

"If I need to use force to protect you, then I will," Bruce declared.

"Let me go," Chloe said quietly, reason strong in her voice. When he did not budge, she continued, "I thought you were a genius. This is a stupid thing to do."

Oliver charged towards Bruce, and almost at once he grabbed the man's arm and threw a punch. The Batman staggered in his heavy cape. In what followed, Chloe fell to her side on the hard concrete floor.

Chloe tasted the blood on her lip. Wide eyed she watched as Oliver threw punches over and over. When she saw Bruce reach for his taser she threw out a hand and pleaded for him to stop.

And he did. Furious and defenseless, Oliver Queen was no match for a fully suited Batman. Slowly she made her way to her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Oliver threw back a hand and hit her square across the face. Chloe stumbled, dazed.

She blinked away the black spots that darkened her vision and found her gaze hazy with the tears that rose together with the shock and the pain.

And then Bruce was on top of Oliver, his fingers gripping the sides of his throat, controlled and rational enough that he brought down his foe.

"Stop it!" she cried out. Chloe knelt by Oliver's head, pulled at Bruce's hand in an effort to loosen his grip. "He can't breathe. Stop it please."

The Batman met her eyes with a confusion borne of the panic in her reaction, the blindness with which she reaction. His gaze fell to the cut on her lip, to the rapidly discoloring skin of her jaw.

Chloe blinked away the tears. "Please let him go."

Reluctantly, Bruce loosened his grip on Oliver. He rose to his feet and glared down at the fallen man. Chloe cradled Oliver's head on her lap.

"I blanked out," came the muffled, apologetic statement. It was a muttered conversation, and Chloe clutched at the Oliver comfortably. Queen continued, "My vision grew dark. I lost control," he said in disbelief, in a vopice that was ruled by shame.

"You can control it!" she insisted. They had worked to prove it the last few weeks, realizing finally just earlier that this was a battle they had won.

"I thought I can. But I can't. I couldn't control myself. I'm losing it."

It was the tender way his fingers brushed the cut on her lip that told her there was no end tonight, not the end she wanted with the blood on her lip and the bruise on her face.

"Come on," she said softly. Chloe avoided the somber gaze that followed her every move. She ignored the screaming pain on her hip where she had fallen, disregarded the rawness of the abraded skin on her palms.

On the edge of the bed she helped him sit down. He captured his hands in his and forced them palm up. Chloe saw the way he swallowed at the sight. "It's okay," she whispered. "It looks worse than it feels."

And her heart splintered when he answered, "You don't understand what I'm feeling right now."

Chloe knelt on the bed beside him. She opened her arms, and hesitantly, almost as if he did not deserve it, Oliver pressed against her. He laid his head down against her breast. "I lost myself today."

"You lost control. That's it," she responded.

"I lost myself," Oliver corrected her. "Because for that entire time, I couldn't place you in my head, Chloe."

"I don't believe that," she whispered. Because he had said he would always know who she was. It would be difficult, a struggle, but he would always know just like she would always see him even in the dark.

"I'm so afraid. I'm afraid that one of these days when the darkness takes over I'm going to stop loving you."

It was the most her heart had been broken ever since she could remember. The quiet confession ripped her inside, harsher than the day that Jimmy asked for a divorce, more painful than the day she accepted that Clark loved Lana and never her, more hurtful than the morning she woke up and found that her mother had left. "Well," she forced cheer in her voice, "I'm never going to stop. I'm always going to love you."

Even against the greatest threat there was no greater weapon. His cold lips sought her collarbone. Chloe arched her back and yielded her neck to the kisses. No more words that hurt, nothing but this. She lay down on the bed and slipped her hands into the shirt and rested her palm on his skin.

This time, unlike the first time he returned from patrolling the streets again, Oliver did not take his time. "I need you so much."

"I know," she whispered back.

He did not take the time to slip the panties off her. He burned a path of hot kisses from her neck to her breasts, bit at the nipples and she cried out and grasped his hair. Finally he climbed onto the bed and loosened his pants. With his arms he raised and parted her knees, then slid into her easily. Chloe arched up and gasped when he slid home. He pushed, pulled back, then thrust with so much strength she was pushed up several inches towards the headboard.

The sheets stuck to her back, her fingers buried in his back. And he pushed over and over inside her, his fingertips playing over the injury on her lip stood starkly and sharply in contrast. He spent himself inside her with an exclamation she could not understand, but swore and prayed was a promise that he would not let them be defeated.

When she felt the warmth streaming over her bare skin, Chloe's eyes fluttered open. She knew, just as much as she had feared in the night, this morning she knew.

She was alone.

Slowly, like she was moving underwater, Chloe rose and reached for her phone. She opened one of the dozens of missed call logs on the phone and returned the call.

"Bruce," she whispered. She surprised himself by the hoarseness of her voice. "I need your help." Chloe thought she would always be grateful that even after the events that unfolded before him the night before, the man merely asked her what she needed. "Oliver's gone, and he's in danger. I need access to my husband's funds, Bruce."

The quiet lull from the other end of the line unnerved her. And then, she heard his voice, "Chloe Sullivan."

She did not deny it, and it was as much of a confirmation as she could do as her brain processed fears for Oliver. "When did you know?"

"Last night."

"Will you help me?"

"Anything for you, Mrs Queen." Bruce cleared his throat. "Text me your location. I'll be right there for you."

"I need resources." She had been doing this for years. Courage and determination only could get one so far.

"I'll get you what you need from QI, and if I can't do it, then Wayne is all yours just like it's always been."

The pregnant silence hung between them as Chloe searched and failed to find a response.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

"I know, Clark," she bit out the words as she clutched the phone to her ear. She wore the floor with the back and forth pacing that she could not stop. She was dizzy; her head spun. Her world was falling apart, and she was unused to floundering alone in this manner. Ever since Oliver, there was always one rational head, always a voice of reason when her existence teetered. Now the echo of her voice in the empty plush apartment merely emphasized how very much alone she was. "I screwed up. I kept this from you and the team. Honestly," she said, her voice breaking just a little, not enough to show him her weakness, "I thought we were handling it."

"This is the darkness, Chloe. This is much bigger than anything we've seen before."

"Don't you think I know that by now?" she retorted. They had been arrogant, she and Oliver. They had been in love, happy, and in his eyes they had been perfect. As young as they were, as strong as he had been, as intelligent as she was, they had both believed nothing could deter them. "We made a mistake. Now make me a promise."

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear about him."

"You know I need more than that," Chloe pushed. "Swear that you're not going to hurt him, Clark."

The doorbell rang. Chloe licked her lips. There was only one person she expected, and she had not expected him so soon.

"Swear," she repeated as she walked to the door and opened it.

Bruce stood on the other side. Silently she waved him in. Bruce Wayne stepped almost reluctantly to the home she shared with Oliver. She held up a finger to ask for silence, then gestured to the sofa. Bruce ignored the instruction and instead wandered around the home that Oliver had set up. Bruce picked up a framed photograph, Oliver's favorite. He had snapped a picture of her using his phone as they lounged late morning in bed. For a moment Chloe almost protested. No one else but her and Oliver had been in their home, and a stranger's hands on their shared belongings sat uneasily in her gut.

Then she remembered this man was no stranger.

This was a hero, as reluctant as he had been to join a team, to become part of a unit, to step out of the shadows—this was a hero.

Right now she needed a hero.

So Bruce wandered more, stopping by the display shelves in the living room, looking at the small, often cheap, but always sentimental knick knacks that Oliver selected to grace their place. There was a large mug from that café in Metropolis, and the queen piece of a chess board he had placed on the table that day she pulled him from the brink. Chloe turned her head when Bruce took in his hand the empty champagne bottle that marked the start of her wedding day.

"Chloe, he's one of my best friends. I'm not going to hurt him."

"If the darkness takes over," she began. Futile words. Chloe recognized that the darkness consumed him the second he decided to leave her. "You may not recognize him. He might not recognize who you are," she said, voicing out her deepest fear. "Just remember, Clark, that Oliver is still in there somewhere."

And then he asked the question she was afraid of, mainly because she had no answer, did not know what was fair, "And what if he's the danger, Chloe?"

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Because you're his wife. You're my best friend. You're part of this team." There was a pause before he continued. "It seems to me you'd have a different answer depending on who you are right at that moment."

Chloe smiled thinly, even though Clark could not see her. "Stand down," she answered. "And call me."

Chloe turned off the phone. There he was still, with that dark gaze that studied her like she inscrutable, like she was a more of a puzzle now than when mysteriously appeared in his life. Yet every second that passed the darkness took a piece of Oliver. She did not have even a breath to waste.

In his hands he played with the framed certificate, with the damning evidence he had dug up from his Metropolis hack put together with clear tape. She supposed she should have hidden away all the things that screamed to reality what she had hidden from him, at least out of consideration. He would know the truth. Most definitely. But she could have managed the change slowly.

"Do we get the plane?" she asked.

Bruce placed the marriage certificate back on the shelf. Chloe watched the sharp, uneven movement, thought immediately that it was so unlike him. She had seen him fight, practice. Immediately she knew he botched the one task she gave him. "The QI board is on lockdown," Bruce explained away his failure. Before she could ask, he continued, "The CEO and owner is missing. I can't get within an inch of Oliver's resources, Anne." He licked his lips. Chloe could read the frustration in his face. "Chloe," he corrected himself. And then, after a pause, he said, "Mrs Queen."

"Call me Chloe," she offered briefly.

He walked towards her, stopped merely a foot away. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. He looked at her as if he was reading inside her. Chloe held her breath. And then he said softly, his voice weighed by disappointment, testing the name again, "Chloe."

"Yes."

"I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

"You know me." She looked up at him, met his eyes. "A name is just a name. I worked with you for months, saved your life. I'm the same person, Bruce."

"If you say so," came the response. And Chloe waited with bated breath, prayed he could not tell how nervous she was, how uncertain about the next step. "I can give you what you need."

Chloe was not about to become choosy, not decline what she needed so badly. "You'll give me a plane. I need it tonight. Will you do that, Bruce?"

"Did you ever really doubt it?"

And she had to be as truthful as she could. She was not stupid, and she was not a liar. She was almost apologetic, but she did not vocalize it. "No."

It seemed the answer satisfied him, because he gave a small smile, the type that he gave her after their first successful mission together, when he still was not convinced of her role and had been in denial that his only choice then was to step up. Faced with the prospect of being able to fly, of having all the use of Wayne Enterprises resources and everything that the Batman had in his arsenal, Chloe grabbed the ring that hung from her necklace. She would find Oliver, save him. No matter what happened she was going to be there for him.

"How did you even find out?" she asked.

The smile vanished. "You should have seen the way you begged me to stop."

The Batman had pummeled Oliver, unfairly in his full gear while her husband was fueled by rage and the darkness. Chloe vaguely remembered whatever spilled from her lips, but her memories were filled with panic upon seeing him hurt.

Bruce shook his head, then muttered, "I thought he was intelligent, but now I know he was just arrogant." Chloe stiffened at his declaration. "I don't understand how irresponsible Oliver had been that he didn't fix everything for you. Here you are without access to even a dollar from his account."

"Don't blame him," Chloe advised.

"I understand feeling invulnerable," he continued. "He's a young man with a new wife. Hell, if I were in his shoes I wouldn't consider the thought of not being here. But this was just selfish."

"Don't talk about Oliver like that. It was my choice. I didn't want the public to intrude in our lives."

And he was sincere. He tipped up her chin, then said, "I would have found a way." She wanted to look away, but his gaze was warm and she was feeling so lost without her husband.

She swore that his thumb moved on her chin. Almost immediately she pulled away. "Just give me the plane, Bruce."

He nodded, then took his phone from his pocket. "When do we leave?"

Her heart thundered in her ears. "You're a busy man."

"Do you honestly think I'll let you take my plane by yourself? You gave me a false identity."

She narrowed her eyes. Chloe moved away. He had returned the framed photograph askew, so she right it on the shelf. "So you don't trust me now," she said tentatively, her tone almost accusatory, as if she was the one who had the right to be offended. She did not care about whether or not she sounded less rational than she should have.

"You're taking my plane; I'm coming," he said decisively.

Chloe walked back to the bedroom, and on her heels he followed. When she reached the doorway Chloe turned around and held up her hand. He did not protest, but remained at the threshold uninvited. Chloe glanced back as Bruce made the call. She closed the door behind her, then avoided the sight of the rumpled sheets of the bed. Chloe packed a bag quickly. The bed called to her, mocking her, reminding her of the night when she had been so absorbed within herself she did not even suspect that he was saying goodbye.

It was disgusting, for a wife, for the strong support she had always been to Oliver, that she did not even suspect a thing, could not even keep him with her where he would be safer.

Chloe dropped the bag on the floor abruptly and rushed to the bathroom. She gripped the edges of the marble sink and bent over, heaving dryly until her throat hurt and she recognized how awful it was to retch with an empty stomach. Chloe squeezed her eyes tightly shut, the tears seeping out readily from her lashes. The noises she made were unpleasant, and Chloe sniffled as the panic in her chest bubbled until warm, acidic saliva gathered in her throat and dripped from her open mouth.

"Chloe," he called his name out loud. And it was too loud for him to be outside.

She looked up at the reflection in the mirror and confirmed that he had come uninvited. "Get out," she gasped. "Wait in the living room, Bruce," Chloe insisted, because no matter that Oliver had abandoned her Bruce had no place in that bedroom, only meters away from that bed.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine." And then, she absolutely hated that her heart calmed somewhat when he entered the bathroom, closed his hand firmly around her elbow, then said, "Have you eaten at all? Where's your medicine cabinet?"

Chloe choked when Bruce pulled the bathroom cabinet open. She just knew that he glimpsed the empty box that sat inside, and concluded enough, pieced together the evidence enough for him to shut the cabinet door closed without another word. She rinsed her mouth with some water and stiffly went back to the bedroom. Before she could pick up the discarded bag he took it in his hand. She did not protest. Instead she walked before him out the door.

Bruce pressed the level on the elevator where he had parked. Chloe swore he was looking at her, even if she did not glance back at him. He looked at her and watched her. She felt it in the heat of her skin.

The private hangar was already familiar to her. She and Oliver had flown in another warm night a few months ago, and this time she was back rushing to a different private jet with a different man at her side. The quick flash of light was almost unobtrusive if her eyes were not already oversensitive from the tears she shed on the side and the unbearable headache weighing her down.

"Someone took our picture," she recognized idly.

Beside her she almost felt him stiffen. "Do you want me to do something about it?"

His voice was certain. Chloe was sure he could do anything she asked then. But every second that passed was another opportunity for Oliver to regret, even minute she lost was a minute the darkness triumphed. "No," she answered. "We need to go."

When finally they were inside the plane, lounging in those wide comfortable seats, Chloe waited for her body to relax the way it did in preparation for a flight. He waited for her to check her phone. But it was empty, and Clark had sworn information to her. Even without that guidance, Chloe looked up at Bruce and decided, "Metropolis."

As the destination was passed to the pilot, and Bruce's staff process approvals from the airport, a flight attendant stopped beside them and poured wine. She handed the drink to Chloe, only for Bruce to intercept and take the glass by its stem. "Miss… Jones," he said, "will have water. She's inexplicably terrified that alcohol will give her jet lag."

Chloe did not comment. She had known the man was observant enough.

"So this isn't about a wife rushing after a runaway husband," he told her. "And knowing about your secret hobby, Chloe, I wouldn't think this has nothing to do with Queen's nighttime vocation."

"You've always been too smart for your own good, Bruce."

The side of his lip curved upward. The engines murmured and without waiting for the instruction he fastened his seatbelt. She took the cue and did the same. "Maybe just smart enough for your benefit. It's apparent you severely lack judgment right now. What's happening with Queen for him to suddenly leave the flawed little lie of a life you two have set up?" he asked.

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "What makes you think this isn't some domestic dispute?" Chloe challenged. "Why won't you assume that Oliver just got bored and I just can't let go that I have to come after him?"

"As stupid as he was not to set up a way to take care of you and give you access to his money, I have to admit that Oliver isn't so stupid to leave you." Bruce shook his head. And then he shifted to the way they spoke when he first thought she was Anne, and she was someone who supported him and nagged him to step into those black boots. "What the hell are we up against, Anne?"

She did nothing to correct the name, let him call her the way he was used to. Chloe ignored the small satisfaction of knowing he had her back, that she had him against this threat. "Hell," she said. "Exactly that."

He respected her enough that his face remained somber, and he did not find the prospect ridiculous.

"We're up against hell on earth, Bruce. We're up against the darkness." Chloe licked her lips. "And it's consuming my husband from inside out. Any doubt, any weakness—that darkness can exploit. Few men can resist it. Those who do are killed. Bruce," she said quietly, "you're not ready for this."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"You've got to stay in the jet and fly back."

His dark brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I would have brought you into this, would have been the one to expose you to the threat. I won't be prepared for that guilt." She bit her lip. Chloe noticed the way his gaze fell to her bottom lip. "You have your own purpose. If anything happens to you…" her voice trailed off. "I'm not going to ask you to put yourself in danger like that."

She had racked her brain over and over for the last months while she and Oliver thought they were winning over the darkness wondering when it was Oliver could have possibly fallen victim to the minions of darkness and she could only think of one opportunity. It was the night she had been taken and Desaad led him to believe she had died. He had seen red; he had thought his world had fallen apart. In his own words, he had fallen into rage.

Oliver was always a man ruled by emotion. It was emotion that brought him to her, emotion that propelled him to become a masked hero.

It was emotion that the darkness used to take him.

"You've got some selective memory there, don't you, Jones?" Chloe shook herself from the reverie. It was no use dragging herself down, but memories were the only way to be close to him. It had not been a full day since she lost him and she felt like they had been apart for decades. When Bruce reached for her hand this time, she did not pull away. "You were the one who told me to take control, to stand up. You said my life is my own and that the choices I make will define who I am. Now you have the temerity to suggest," he belied the harsh words with the gentleness of his voice, "that you'd be forcing me to do something I want to do."

Heroes never expected anything in return.

She needed him.

Almost reluctantly she nodded and murmured her thanks.

Her cellphone chimed. Quickly she pulled away and grabbed hastily at the device, so hastily and clumsily that the phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor at her feet.

"I'll get it." Bruce unsnapped his seatbelt and leaned down. Chloe held her breath as his cheek moved an inch from her knee. He looked up and her and held out the phone.

It was Clark's name on the screen. Chloe answered the phone. "Did you find him?" were the first words out of her mouth. "Where?"

She nodded, forgetting the fact that Clark could not see her. She hung up and looked back at Bruce. "We're heading in the right direction." Chloe did not notice how she had tensed until she noticed the way he stared at the knee, found that she was gripping her clothes in her clenched fist.

"You're nervous. I assume your green leather hero's decided to engage the darkness outside of your carefully crafted mission plan." When she did not respond, he asked directly, "So where is this darkness that your husband has left you for?"

Chloe rested her head back. She closed her eyes. If she had any hope of helping Oliver, she had to rest. Her mind was a mess, her head throbbed and she was constantly dizzy now. Even her body was sore and aching.

"Inside him," she whispered.

Inside him, all along, when they married, when he decided to leave Metropolis with her, when he told her he loved her as he moved in her, when he gasped out a declaration of love while he exploded inside her.

Inside him when she conceived.

Chloe looked out the window at the thick white clouds. Down below, she knew there were those beautiful shorelines of Star City that she would miss. Hidden, so far away, but she knew they were there. She would be back to bathe under the California sun again. One of these days she would return with Oliver. Her hand fluttered to her belly. She just had to be strong enough to save him.

Her vision wavered. Chloe closed her eyes and imagined running barefoot on the sand, holding Oliver's hand while running after a little girl.

She was dreaming. She knew it even then.

But Chloe laughed out loud when he tackled her to the ground. The sand slid into places and she suspected the shower drain would be clogged with sand later when she demanded Oliver to clean what he had messed up. His body fell heavily on her and Chloe chuckled and she buried her fingers in his golden hair. He smiled down at her, and it was vibrant and light and everything she adored about him. The sun beat down his back and his face was almost shadowed.

It was a dream, but still she said to him because it was her only chance now, "I love you, Mr Queen."

"I love you too," he answered. He leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss.

Chloe's legs parted to make room for him. However she giggled and pushed gently at his shoulders remembering their daughter was running around nearby. "Oliver, we need to take this to the bedroom."

Slowly, his head lifted above her. The day darkened as the cloud covered the sun. Chloe turned her eyes to him and, stark and terrifying, she saw omega symbol black on his forehead.

Chloe gasped and sat up, pushed back into her seat by the seatbelt fastened around her. She faced Bruce's dark gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Chloe swallowed and rested her head back once more. She closed her eyes.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

**Part 6**

The Watchtower security was the same as she remembered, and the cold feminine voice declaring that her password was verified almost seemed like a warm welcome home. Beside her was a stranger to the system, and Chloe entered the override code needed to keep them from being locked out. When Watchtower allowed access to her companion, Bruce grunted in a way that told her that he was impressed by the set up. After all, his glorious highly advanced Batcave boasted a security system that Chloe had disabled within seconds.

"Did you do this?"

And somehow the way his eyes shone, in that unmistakable admiration that she recognized only because of years of giving it to Clark Kent, made the somber situation just a little lighter, more acceptable, less tragic. "Yours truly," she said, taking pride in the work that was the product of years of solitude. "I had some help."

"In programming?"

"Before you ask for a referral, understand that the software was mine. The help I needed you obviously won't."

Bruce looked at the surrounding space of the elevator, which was almost ancient and commonplace in appearance, but had apparently been installed by those DNA detection lasers. "So," he said, putting it together so quickly even she was surprised, "Oliver Queen had been funding a vigilante justice team. No wonder there's a hole in this coffers that he just isn't interested in plugging." When she looked at him askance, Bruce shrugged his shoulders, "It's a well-known tidbit in the business. Queen's accountant can't find the source of the leak. But every now and then money is funneled out of Queen and credited back intermittently." He smirked. "I was beginning to suspect money laundering until Queen came out as Green Arrow. I wasn't about to make any noise. I know how much it takes to invest in a secret double identity."

The elevator doors opened and Chloe and Bruce stood at the end of the corridor. Bruce made a motion to step out, but Chloe grabbed his arm. He turned to her. "You've always said that you don't need a team. But I do, Bruce. This is your last chance to back away."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his mirth fading. "I told you in the plane that I was part of this mission. You want Queen back," he said firmly. "We'll get him back for you. Then I move on."

Move on.

Her eyes roamed over his face, reading him, or trying. Move on from the hero business, like he had claimed before, like he had planned to do once he took down his parents' murderers. Move on from this mission maybe, and pick up where he left off in Gotham City before he raced across the continent for the mysterious communications specialist who encouraged him to save the world. Move on…

Either way he told her the plan with that shuttered look that she hated. He had that look when he had a secret, when he was unwilling to share, when he did not trust. For the longest time she thought they had gone past that look.

"That's not how it works," she declared. Bruce blinked, for a split second his brows furrowed in confusion, a little spark of hope, until he put on that expressionless face again. "Inside that room is a team of heroes, and I'm not stupid enough to let you go in there half committed. If you go in there you will know who the team is, maybe find out their identities. If you go in there you're either an asset or a liability."

His set jaw ticked. "So it's a question of trust." His eyes narrowed. "You know me better than to have any concerns about that, Chloe."

It was apparent in his voice that he had taken great offense. Before it went any further she tightened her hold on his arm.

"Put yourself in my position and tell me you wouldn't take the same precautions."

For the longest moment he did not react. Chloe began to wonder if maybe she said the wrong thing, or maybe he did not hear her. Then curtly, ever so quickly Bruce nodded in acknowledgment.

She walked ahead of him, knowing he needed the time to think through his own reactions, seat aside his own objections. Whoever it was that represented the team inside the Watchtower, Chloe was sure was ready and waiting for her return, perplexed at the presence of a stranger. If anything only Clark would have some idea about who it was that tagged along. Chloe moved to push the door open, but Bruce stepped forward and muttered, "Let me in first."

"I trust these people," she replied, "and I'm less likely to be annihilated than you."

Her attempt at humor went largely ignored. Bruce gave her a small smile, then said, "Humor me."

Chloe shrugged. If he wanted to put himself in imminent danger—that only existed in his head—she would not deny his heroic tendencies to do so. "Go ahead."

His hand hovered over the pocket of the coat he wore. Chloe remained alert. There was no way she was going to let Bruce pull out a weapon against the team. New hero or not, Bruce was not going to endanger her team.

At their entrance, Tess pushed her chair back from behind the desk and stood. "Chloe," she greeted the long lost owner of the entire space, "come back to your tower." Chloe nodded somberly. "I knew from the day Oliver told me he suspected that he was marked by the darkness that you and I will be working together soon."

Chloe looked around the room, wondering who had come to the party. The strange emptiness rang inside her. No one had come. All these years the team gathered together when she or Oliver called. Whether they labeled it or not, they still had command of the team. Oliver was more than the deep pockets. She was more than the coordinator. Suddenly she was so very glad that at least she had Bruce Wayne at her side.

Bruce placed a hand on the small of her back, in that silent way he spoke to her. It was effective enough when her walls were down. Chloe glanced up and him and threw him a look of gratitude.

She turned to the new arrival. "And someone new." Tess threw back a questioning look towards Chloe.

Before Chloe could explain, Clark's voice echoed in the room. Chloe looked up to see Clark walking down the spiral steps, leafing through photographs in a folder. Her chest swelled with pride. She and Oliver were only months gone and the change in Clark was almost tangible. It was in the way he held himself, the strength in his voice. "So you're the latest project." He extended a hand. "The billionaire with all the gadgets."

Bruce took Clark's hand. Tess gasped. "I knew there was something familiar about you!" Tess exclaimed. "Tess Mercer."

Bruce answered Clark, "Billionaire with all the gadgets is what's on my birth certificate. Incidentally I prefer to be called Bruce Wayne."

"Clark—"

"The Blur," Chloe interrupted.

"Actually, I go by Superman now," Clark offered. When Chloe's brows shot up, he added, "I'll tell you about it later."

Chloe looked down the photographs in Clark's hand. The one at the very top caught her attention. Her heart raced. She snatched up the folder and looked at the picture, taken in the night. "Oliver," she said. She could only see the back of the blonde head but the way he stood she would know him anywhere. She turned to the next photograph, her eyes rapidly scanning the surroundings first looking for a marker she could recognize. Finally her focus landed on his face, blurry and faded due to the distance and the careless zoom. It was embarrassing really. Most of her relationship happened in the privacy of their bedroom, in their apartments only when they were alone. She was so unused to exposing herself in this manner, but Chloe could not help touching her thumb to Oliver's chin on that picture. Bruce's hand rested on her shoulder. Chloe looked up. "Where is he?"

"Right here in Metropolis," Clark answered. "You flew blindly but your destination was right."

"This was where it started," Chloe said. "This is where it's going to end."

"We only just informed the team before you arrived, because that was the only time we got visual confirmation," Tess offered. "Those were taken by Canary. We'd asked her to keep track of the agents of the darkness."

A gust of wind blew across the room. Chloe nodded at the appearance of Impulse. He pushed his hoodie back and grinned. "So I hear the Bossman's got himself into some trouble." He was about to pull off the shades until his eyes wandered to the tall dark head of the stranger beside Chloe. "Newbie!" he said. The name was too light and—fun—to ascribe to Bruce Wayne.

While Bruce and Bart made their introductions, Chloe walked over to the desk where Tess was working. "The rest of your team has called in. They will be here tomorrow at the earliest."

"Right now, Tess, where is he?"

Chloe spread the pictures on the desk. "I can't recognize these landmarks. This is the first time I'm lost in Metropolis," she said in frustration.

"Why don't you go and take some rest?" Clark suggested. "You're not going to be effective if you're falling on your feet."

"I slept on the plane," she told him in an offhand manner.

"We are not going to make a move until the entire team is here. Remember, it takes the entire team to take down one of us."

"Clark, we are not taking him down. I thought we had this conversation."

Bruce walked over to them and stood behind the computer tower. Chloe watched. She had already seen this from afar, expect the move. She looked at his face and was strangely relieved by the small, slight smirk he gave her. When Bruce placed his hand inside his pocket, he told her, "That suggestion isn't bad at all. I can book us at the hotel."

Chloe did not miss the very specific way Bart folded his arms across his chest. Chloe said instead, "I'll stay at the Clocktower."

"That's Oliver's place," Bart specified, all for this new man's benefit. "By now I suppose it's her place too."

"Bart," she said his name, and the other hero recognized the warning, backed away. "Why don't I drop you off at the hotel on my way to the Clocktower?" she suggested.

They rode in silence in the cab. Chloe gave instructions to the cab driver. She looked out the window and watched as they traveled past Metropolis' bright lights. The Watchtower was so easy to spot in the horizon. It reminded her of all the times that Oliver would send her a message while he was out on patrol, running from rooftop to rooftop chasing the various criminals he had pursued in the past.

"You don't see me but I see you, Tower, all lit up against the night sky." The smile on her face was reluctant, and she cursed herself now for the time she had lost denying herself.

But she saw him, a faint and blinking speck of light on her screen, hard to spot for anyone else except her. "You're right there, Arrow. Trust me. I can tell."

As they passed through the streets Chloe caught a glimpse of that old club that had since closed to the public. Despite the outward appearance she just knew it was not some empty abandoned building. Years with him had honed her senses, paranoia and suspicion were her best friends. And then she remembered that fuzzy light on one of the photographs, the combination of which she had already seen near there.

She changed the instructions to the cab driver. Bruce straightened in his seat and addressed her, "What do you have in mind, Anne?"

"I think I know where he is," she muttered.

When she got off the cab, Bruce quickly did the same thing. Chloe made her way to the front door. The door did not open until another man was about to leave. Upon seeing the strangers at the door, he looked at both. Bruce's face brought recognition, then a sheer sense of satisfaction. "It's Wayne. Let them through."

Their steps echoed in the dead silence of the corridor. Chloe focused on the red swinging doors at the very end. "Someone's in great demand," she commented when Bruce fell in step with her.

"I'm always good for business," was the easy, arrogant answer. "Even if that business is feeding some darkness, Wayne is the way to go."

But the statement fell off the moment she opened the door. The Ace of Clubs had turned from the club she once knew to a den of—everything she suspected Oliver had seen before but knew he had not touched since she saved him. Chloe's eyes took on the scantily clad women baring their flesh to the eyes and the hands of strangers. Rolling on the plush couches were couples and groups in various states of disarray; some unclothed sleeping off the night. In a corner there were a dozen men and women gambling and boozing.

She walked into hell, she thought. A hell on earth, a nexus to the Darkseid.

And then amidst those heads, Chloe spotted Oliver Queen making his way down the staircase, with a cold smile on his face. He reached the bottom step and caught a nameless woman , wrapped his arms around her waist. Chloe had seen that smile a thousand times before. Even in the distance she felt a chokehold cutting off her air. When Oliver's mouth slanted on the woman's Chloe pushed away from Bruce and sprinted towards where she knew the bathrooms were installed in the old club.

Made it halfway when she bent over and held on to the wall, emptied her stomach so violently tears poured from her eyes.

When finally she pulled herself up, she saw the handkerchief he held out. "I'd get you a glass of water but we don't know how sterile it is."

Chloe took the cloth from his hand and wiped her face dry. She gasped for breath, tried to calm herself as best she could. She took a glass of water from a passing server, then said to Bruce, "They won't risk the health of their converts with contaminated water. They didn't get all the way here to kill off people through cholera or hep C."

"Yu have a point," he said magnanimously. If this was how he argued on his board then there was no doubt why he was chief executive officer of his own company. "I was talking about drugs."

But Chloe took a deep swallow of the water. Her gaze was focused on her husband. "I need you to divert him. I need to talk to him."

Bruce had no questions. He gestured to the red doors and Chloe nodded curtly then made for the exit. She wondered if she should not call the team then, but Bruce and Oliver were already walking through the throng of people. She waited outside in the dark silent corridor.

Chloe's heart raced until the double doors opened and the two men stepped outside. At the sight of Oliver her heart jumped to her throat. "Ollie!" she gasped.

The sound of the name was the only thing that brought his brown gaze to hers. Chloe ignored the lack of recognition in his eyes. Instead she broke into a run and threw her arms around him. She almost sobbed out loud when his strong, familiar arms wrapped around her body, lifted her against his so they were pressed together so tightly, the same way he held her every day they were together.

And then slowly he released her. He was back. He was hers. She looked up at him with the same adoration she always held. Whatever he had done—was negligible.

"You're soft," were the first words that fell from his lips. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Bruce Wayne faded into the darkness of the corridor. Her heart fractured. She refused to back away. "You're coming with me."

The golden brows shot up and he turned with a slight grin to the other man. "Is this what you needed to show me?" Oliver turned to her. "I don't know what you took in there, but I don't make it a habit to leave with strangers." And then he continued, "On the other hand I have a room in here that I'd be happy to share for a couple of hours—"

She bit her lips. Chloe grasped the front of his shirt. "You need to remember."

"Why?"

A simple question, one word. But it hung in the air between them. Two seconds. Five.

"Because you love me."

He looked back at her, his eyes cold, remote. It was more painful than if he hated her. "So you say."

Chloe shook her head. Why was it so ridiculous to believe she could solve this? Maybe because he had promised so much, told her so many things, made her feel the way she felt. "You swore you would always know me." Her voice was soft; her tone accusatory.

Oliver lied.

And then Bruce Wayne's hand was warm on her am. "Let's go. He obviously can't remember. We'll come back."

"No," she whispered. Giving up was not an option. Oliver did not give up on her. Even when he stopped looking, he kept her close. She shook Bruce's hand from her arm. "You'd remember." Chloe took a step forward and pulled Oliver down, gave everything she had into that kiss. She closed her eyes and willed everything she felt to the surface. Whatever had taken him, he had to recognize what was between them. When she released his lips, she said, "You know who I am."

Slowly, Oliver brought up his hand and wiped his mouth. "That tasted like vomit."

And immediately she felt her heart fall. Chloe backed away, at once she could not wait to put some distance between them. Her hand fisted at the side, hesitating. She wanted to touch him, to try another time, but his eyes were cold on her face and she shook her head.

When she turned around she saw Bruce watching her with those dark eyes that almost seemed to her like he was made to watch the world go by in the night.

She passed by him, placed a hand on his chest. "Let's go," she said softly.

"Go ahead. I'll be right behind you," he assured her.

"You're spreading your legs for this guy?" she heard Oliver call to her. "Should have said so earlier. I don't make it a habit to hit on someone else's fuck."

The noise was an eruption of bone into flesh. The grunt and the hiss of pain made her turn around. Chloe saw Oliver on the floor, clutching his chin and glaring up at Bruce. Her heart skipped, for a second in gratitude. Bruce stood over Oliver, fisting and unfisting his hand.

Bruce turned around and faced her. "Now it's time to go."

Chloe stood still where she was. Reluctantly she turned to Oliver and asked, "Are you gonna be okay?"

Bruce stopped right beside her, hissed his demand, "That's not him. That isn't your husband, Chloe. Walk away."

Chloe stared at where Oliver had gathered himself up. She searched his face for the faintest trace of recognition. Found none.

Could not help one final plea.

"You have to remember. You swore, Ollie." His name. He always responded to his name on her lips. But this time his expression was stoic, unchanging. "You need to remember me."

And then the doors opened and Desaad stepped outside, stopped beside Oliver. She could feel Bruce's fury thrumming in his tense body. Setting aside her feelings Chloe turned around and walked out with Bruce, putting him as far away from the minion as possible, unwilling to risk him. Unwilling to risk his wrath that anyone could see. Unwilling to reveal the jealousy that neither of them named, but knew lay beneath the surface.

She was coming back. She would always come back for him.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

So my three week old keeps wanting to be carried all the time, and my hands are now always occupied. I get to write whenever she falls deeply asleep. Hope the long delays aren't frustrating.

**Part 7**

In front of them all she was as strong as the last time they saw Watchtower. She was always going to be strong in front of them. If there was anything Oliver taught her in those few moments they were alone together, right before what they thought was the end of the world, it was that she should relax, not count anyone out, have faith in the team.

So even when she faced the team the next morning as Oliver's league gathered in the Watchtower, Chloe was calm as she shot down one by one their amateur strategy and infantile proposals, "Come up with something better."

"If we can just talk to him," AC insisted. Chloe shook her head. Idealistic like always, in this battle AC was going to fall if she let him have his way. "You know he'll listen to reason."

"Oliver will," she snapped. "But there is no trace of Oliver in there."

Chloe closed her eyes.

The words were torn from her throat and it was the hardest when it fell on her own ears.

She would have believed the way AC waved and swam in her vision had she not been dry with her feet on the ground. As it was she knew it was her little secret that distorted her sight. She threw a sideways glance towards the corridor, her mind automatically calculating the time it would take with the new obstacles on the way. She was not going to show them any hint of weakness. It was her—she was the glue that held the League together. That was how Oliver described his young team. Without Oliver, they needed all the stability they could muster.

But even as she left them to plan on their own, Chloe stumbled to the bathroom. She made her way to the sink and the disgusting noises from her throat as she bent and threw up over the sink merely made her toes curl. Her hands were clammy now. She looked up in the mirror and pushed her hair tremulously back, tucked it behind her ears.

The last time she did this at home, she saw his reflection in the mirror as he stood at the entrance of the bathroom. His brows furrowed even when he walked up behind her. She felt him pressing behind her, and his form was comforting, like a security blanket around her.

His familiar golden head was absent. Her hands covered her face and she leaned down low, turned on the faucet. The running water was cold on her palms. Chloe brought up the water and moistened her face, clashing strangely with the hot water on her cheeks. Belatedly she realized they were tears. Once she did Chloe splashed the cold water on her face in an effort to bring down the soreness of her eyes.

The team was outside, in the main room, and Oliver always wanted her to be strong.

She had promised him strength.

Then again, he had promised he would always know her.

The thought repelled her stomach and once again there was an involuntary rejection in her stomach that made her throw up over and over. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her skin was so hot, so sweaty. For a brief moment she was held close, an arm wrapped around her waist and she was pulled, tightly, wonderfully, against his body.

"This has been going on for a few days. Mrs Queen, I'm going to start to think we're going to have some little ones soon."

And she had playfully swatted his arm, because if she did not he was going to want to lie around all day and she would miss work. Again. "Let me go and I'm going to take a test as soon as I can."

It should have been easy. If for one moment she could just have set aside what she wanted and she just became his wife. She could have kept him with a hold so strong he would never have allowed the darkness to consume him. If he had known, he would have fought. Harder. More. Better.

Because whatever they had before then, it was apparent that it had not been enough. She had not been enough.

"Wash your mouth."

She opened her eyes. For a brief moment in her tear-filled eyes and under the glare of the light she swore it was Oliver. Then he moved, and the light behind him shadowed, it was a dark head that she saw and not her husband's gold. She saw his eyes clearly in the mirror, and she recognized that pity in his gaze.

Chloe let out a sob. She slapped a hand over her mouth, because it was noisy, ungainly, and something the League could not see in her. "Close the door," she choked out.

Bruce stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

"I want him back," she said, defensively, as if she needed to defend what she needed before him.

He shook his head, indicating how unnecessary it was to declare. "That's what everyone is trying to do."

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Did you hear them?" she asked softly. Of course he did not. He had been out alone, like he always had been, working in his own way. "They have no idea how to defeat this."

Her voice trembled at the end of the statement, the way she did not want it to. She stifled a sob, bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying. But this was Bruce Wayne. He worked alone. She had infiltrated his bubble, worked her way through his firewalls uninvited. He was not one of the team that needed her to be strong.

Sometimes he was just a little bit stronger than she was. When he urged, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt.

"While you were here planning, I was out hunting," he told her. It was an effort to reassure her, she was sure. And then her heart leapt when he said, "I know where to find them. Scratch that. I know where Oliver is. What do you want me to do?"

His voice was strong, so confident, so self-assured. He sounded like he could defeat anything.

But where Oliver was, as strong and idea of a captive as he was, Desaad would be close by. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

And he pulled away gently, with a slight tip of his finger on her chin he brought up her face and he told her, "Fifty miles off the New England coastline, I was warm on my plane and for all intents and purposes safe, flying home. You remember what you chirped into my ear?"

For a brief second she remembered the words, the disbelief that followed in his response. She offered from her memory, "Release and jump."

"Into the freezing cold water."

"I was trying to save your life."

"Blind. With some flimsy parachute and complete off radar—"

"You jumped," she reminded him, her eyes crinkling with mirth because she had been right about the explosives in the plane. "You swore; you grumbled. But you jumped."

Bruce nodded. "I always do anything for you." In the silence that followed, he said, "So I don't need to know how dangerous this thing is. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it." Before she could protest he added, "It's hard to find a good comms specialist when your activities are bordering on illegal."

She was not going to find this blind willingness to please, not with the team, not with the young men that Oliver saved and trained over the months to protect her. She glanced at the closed bathroom door out of guilt, then turned back to Bruce. "Show me. Take me where he is."

Just like always, his intel was foolproof. Chloe stepped out of her car just as Oliver stepped out into the alley behind the club. She stood across the street, then called his name. When he looked up at her, she beamed. Chloe raced across the street, ignoring the fact that Desaad had stepped out of the club behind Oliver.

"Ollie!"

And then she was up against the wall, held up by Desaad's tight grip around her neck. She glanced towards the car, shook her head slightly and knew Bruce would follow her instructions to the letter. She turned her sights on Oliver. Chloe pulled at Desaad's fingers, desperate for breath.

He was not moving. Merely watched with the cold dead brown eyes.

He was a stranger.

Her vision darkened and her hands fell down to her sides. In the periphery of her vision she noticed Bruce jump out of the car. Suddenly, within a split second, she was sliding down the wall and crumpled to the ground. Desaad flew back against the opposite wall of the alley. Then Oliver was kneeling in front of her, his brows furrowed, his eyes panicked. And she sobbed in relief when his hands cupped her cheeks, massaging warmth back to her face, saying her name over and over and over.

Chloe.

Not Anne. Not Watchtower.

Chloe.

And she swore she found a glimpse of her husband in those eyes. Suddenly he snatched his hands away. He looked down at them in confusion. He glanced back where Desaad had crumpled to the ground. Before he could stand, she reached out a hand and wrapped it around his wrist. "You remember me," she rasped, her throat still sore from the other man's onslaught.

His eyes narrowed. "Get out of my head."

But she pulled at his wrist, urging him, drawing his palm down where her blouse had escaped where it tucked into her skirt, baring smooth skin that was only very slightly tightened with that imperceptible swell. "You remember me, Ollie."

As much as he pulled, she held fast. She hated the tears that crept up because it was going to shroud her vision, and she swore she could see hints of her husband fighting for the surface. He choked out, like his own body was unwilling to let the words spill, "Chloe, help me."

She nodded fervently, her tears spilling heedlessly. "I will," she swore. "I'll help you."

And then finally she pulled her to him, and it did not matter that she was lying on the dirty alley, or that Desaad was regaining consciousness in the corner. His fingers buried in her hair and he grasped her skull, his mouth bore against hers as they breathlessly clutched at each other.

She missed him. She loved him. She wanted nothing more than to have him back. There were so many things that Chloe wanted to say.

Violently he pulled back. Chloe fell back on the ground and looked up at a stranger. Oliver turned his back and her and stood over Desaad as the other man recovered. Desaad threw her a scathing glance as the two of them retreated back into the club.

And she lay there, looking up at the bright sky. A shadow fell over her, holding his hand out to her. Chloe reached for the hand that helped her stand. Chloe's fingers drifted over her swollen lips. "Did you get what you came for?" he asked her. And she wondered if he thought it was that undeniable proof that Oliver could and would be willing to hurt her.

The man had been far enough to miss that split second resurgence, when she was looking at her husband's eyes and not that stranger.

"I did," she answered.

Because she had seen what she needed to see, found out what could propel her in everything that would follow.

Somewhere in there, her husband existed. Somewhere in there, Oliver was waiting.

For some insane reason, she felt mirth bubble in her chest, along with tears. And so Chloe found herself sniffling, choking, gasping, giggling. Right there in the alley, alone with Bruce Wayne, she laughed and cried.

It took some convincing, but after that glimpse of Oliver Chloe could breathe again, so she invited Bruce to sit outside in the café where Oliver had given her that queen piece of chess. She dragged Bruce Wayne to the exact table she had shared with Oliver. She was going to buy him coffee. She was going to get him a scone. Truly, it was his research that brought her close enough to see. She owed him like she owed no one else, and she swore she was going to pay him back.

When Bruce rose to enter the café, Chloe sat alone at the outdoor table. Her gaze followed him. It took a few moments to feel the steady gaze on her. She froze in her seat, expecting Desaad or another of the minions of the darkness to be watching her. She turned, saw a man—quite normal looking—as tall as Oliver, as somber-looking as Bruce Wayne, his features smooth and angular.

For a split second he reminded her of Davis.

Chloe shook her head.

The man stood from his table. She played with her ring, fidgeted and turned it around and around on her finger. When she looked back up at him she noticed a black box strapped to his arm. He picked up his jacket and shrugged into it, covering the curious object. He made his way over to her.

"I can help you," he offered.

This was no Davis Bloome. Davis came to her with a coy smile, a sincere shyness she could not find in this man.

"I'm with someone." Chloe nodded towards the café where Bruce gestured to the menu, listing for the barista what he wanted. It was odd to gesture to him and describe him as a partner. She never did get to do that even with her own husband.

Nevertheless, the man pulled up Bruce's chair and sat down on it. Chloe stiffened, recognizing how dangerous it was to have a man, strapped clearly with a black box, to stay so close. She moved to stand. His hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. He held her to the table. She looked down at where he gripped her, around his fingers where the skin turned white with the pressure. "I want to help," he stated more clearly. "I may be the only one in the entire universe who can." Her eyes narrowed at his declaration. "A long time ago I was the son of the darkness until I saw the light."

Son of the darkness, she thought to himself. And then she looked back into the pitch blackness of the man's eyes, recognized what was so similar to Davis in his gaze.

There was a monster lying in wait, dormant inside of him.

"You're his son," she repeated.

"Better yet, I'm the son that killed him once before. I know how to do it again." Chloe relaxed her arm enough that he released her. "There is weapon. It's the only weapon that can hurt him, but it was propelled to the burial grounds of the gods of my world."

"This sounds suspiciously like a legend."

Too ambitious to be true, too much to comprehend.

But at her term his lips curved. "That's because I am." The café door opened. Bruce stepped outside. The man before him stood. "My name is Orion, and I'm a god." He grabbed her phone from the table and entered his information. When he held it back out to her, he asked, "How much are you willing to sacrifice for my father's best recruit?"

"Everything."

"Good," he determined. "Because you likely will."

Orion walked away from the table just as Bruce made his way back. Chloe stood abruptly and followed after him. A few feet away from the café and from Bruce, Chloe caught up to Orion and said, "How?"

Orion patted the black box strapped to his arm. "This mother box that regulates my appearance here on earth is also one of limited ways to return to New Genesis."

"Where the burial grounds are," she finished for him.

He nodded. "You need to use that weapon on the infected person. It will pass through the human's body and pierce only the part of him that is the darkness."

"Why are you going to help?"

"Because I have lived in this world long enough to know there is a perfect balance of the dark and the light. It's a balance we never could achieve." And then he smiled grimly. "Because I can feel someone struggling inside him, screaming for help and no one can hear him but me."

Her heart leapt. It was further proof, not just that brief moment that she witnessed.

"I heard him too," she confessed.

"Not many can resurface and fight through the omega, even for a split second." Orion declared, "He's strong."

"Of course he is."

Orion nodded. "The weapon is in the ruined cities of Urgrund, the planet of the old gods. When Urgrund split, so did the cities. No one knows exactly where that ancient bow lies now. I found it in New Genesis once. I have room in my boom tube to accommodate one more passage. Just one. If it's not there it will be in Necropolis at Apokolips."

Chloe shuddered. The name alone was nerve-wracking.

But this was Oliver.

"I'll go."

Chloe whirled around and saw Bruce Wayne close by, holding a takeout cup to her. "This is my journey to make, Bruce. This is mine and Ollie's."

"I haven't had much experience in intergalactic travel, not like Superman," Bruce relayed, remembering the stories they swapped in those few months when she was just Anne. "But I'm pretty sure he said only one passenger. Right now you count as two, and I'd be the lowest form of man if I let someone in your state ride out a warp to another planet or two."

If this was the only way to retrieve a weapon powerful enough to defeat the darkness and free her husband, she needed to do it. It did not matter the consequences. This was far too important to fail.

"I trusted you with my life when you made me jump. Trust me with this."

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Mr and Mrs Queen**

Summary: Oliver leaves Smallville with his new wife, who is hiding behind a different identity and pursuing her dreams in Star City.

Characters: Mainly Chloe, Oliver, Bruce

Rating: PG13

**Part 8 **

There was a wall—this black thick impenetrable wall that blinded him the same time that it rendered him deaf and mute. It was a wall surrounding him and closing him off from the world, growing smaller and smaller, stifling him until he choked. The longer he stayed the less he remembered.

All he knew was the wall all around.

Through the thick walls, as he crouched-Oliver could not know what had changed—but all of a sudden dead silence was pierced by a low fast thrum. There was no sensation in that prison, nothing to deny that he was not in hell. And hell being this small cramped pitch black casket was the perfect type of hell for someone who lived most days looking out a glass wall from a tower so high up in the sky that he saw everything, the worst imaginable hell for someone who spent the night leaping from rooftop to rooftop, the wind strong on his face.

What could dead silence compare to the sound of her light voice in his ear as she virtually accompanied him every second he was a hero?

So when that dead silence tore with the steady thrum, Oliver pressed his ear against the cold black wall.

Came alive a little while.

Bore a hole so small it closed almost immediately.

But by God those few seconds he realized what had brought him out of that hell. There he was, standing in that alley he remembered at the back of the club, his hand warm and pressed low on her belly. He abhorred the tears that sprung to his eyes then because it clouded the vision that he thirsted for too long now. His sensations heightened to the tiniest flutter under his fingertips.

Suddenly he knew. The rapid throbbing sound that pierced through the thick walls around him when he had been closed off to the world. The darkness damned him, but those green tearful determined eyes were the light. That sound that woke him strong heartbeats of a little part of him that was his entire world inside her body.

"You remember me, Ollie," she whispered to him.

His throat swelled at the thought that she would need to say those words. Out of his control his arm pulled back, but he rallied and willed his body, broken when his skin finally rose away from hers and he lost contact. This was not his fight to lose, not with that heartbeat inside her that called him from the dark.

And he pleaded, "Chloe, help me."

She nodded, and she swore to him. Strong and determined. That was his girl, unflagging even when the odds were against them. The gap closed, and he once again was crouched in the blackness cut off from the whole world. Oliver rested his head back against the black wall.

~o~o~o~

When Orion described to her the disruption that would be caused by the boom tube, Chloe had no choice but to relocate the beginning of the mission to the Watchtower. At that time of the night the space was silent. Clark was off on his own, and so was the rest of the League. They were in town to help find a way to recover Oliver, and they would not do it isolated up here. She counted on the privacy that provided as she overrode the security system that immediately sent up a red flag at not just the presence of the stranger but the enormous waves of energy coming off Orion.

When they stepped into the Watchtower, Chloe sucked in her breath when she saw Clark standing at the center with his hands folded across his chest. She turned her head and raised her eyebrows at the sight of Bruce Wayne sitting on Tess' swivel chair.

"I heard the Watchtower alert from Smallville," Clark stated. "Imagine my surprise to find Mr Wayne sitting here."

To Bruce, she said in surprise, "You told him."

"I told you, Chloe, that I can't let you make the jump."

Her companion grew tense, and before he could turn his back on them Chloe clasped at Orion's large arm. Seeing the disapproval in Clark's eyes, Chloe said, "I don't need to ask for your permission, Clark."

Clark's stance softened. "Don't you think I recognize that by now?"

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Just because you're Oliver's wife now doesn't mean I've stopped caring for my best friend. You've got to think this through."

"I have."

Bruce stood from the chair. The ease with which he sat fell from his shoulders at the turn of the conversation. He curled his lips at Clark, then turned to Chloe. "Why don't you enlighten me about your plan to protect Queen's kid in a hellish planet like Apokolips? Because the way I understand it Apokolips if just as much a possibility as New Genesis in this trip."

Chloe flushed at Bruce's revelation. She heard Clark's audible gasp, the way the farmboy's gaze dropped to her belly. Orion stepped away from her and shook his head. "I cannot allow you to use my mother box if you were to take a child. I have seen how children are destroyed by the twin planets. It's happened to me, happened to my brothers."

"I can protect my child. Let me save my husband."

"You know him best. You know Oliver would rather stay in the darkness than endanger his kid, Chloe."

In that, at least, Clark was right.

"The moment I open the tube and use the mother box the darkness will know and will come." Orion's voice was grave. "I fear there is no safety on either end of the tube."

"Let me go," Bruce repeated. "Kent can protect you from here physically. And we both know the darkness is not powerful enough to damn you."

She could feel the questions emanating from Clark. She kept her regard on Bruce, and saw all the answers in his eyes.

Clark responded for her, "You are a true hero, Batman."

The word had not even occurred to her. His action was far from being an act of heroism.

And then Orion spoke. "You will need to clear the way. The tube will appear as rippling light. Do not be fooled by its beauty. It is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Once we have traversed the tube it will close with an explosion of sound and light. The force will go so great it is enough to wipe you off your feet, for the glass windows and these monitoring devices to shatter."

The look that Bruce gave her chilled her. "Why don't you leave? You don't have to stay here."

He had asked her the same thing early in their acquaintance, when the two of them were caught at the docks during a mission he had bungled. She was supposed to be safe behind her computer dictating strategy to him, but he had misinformed her of the dock schedule.

"Cut the crap," she replied. With a small smile, she said, "What's a few shallow cuts from glass debris compared to getting sucked into an intergalactic vortex?"

Before them, the rippling light formed a circle, growing bigger and bigger, and when Chloe peered through it was endless and incomprehensible to her human mind. She felt Clark grasp her hand tightly in his.

Orion motioned to Bruce. Bruce took a deep breath. And then, Chloe saw his shadowed figure turn. He was a silhouette against the blinding light. Bruce strode over to her and without a second's pause his arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her to him. His lips crushed over hers. The second the kiss registered in her head, he had raised his head. He whispered, "I'm coming back with the bow. And then no matter what happens you're going to use it and you're going to free your husband, because people in love are willing to do everything for the ones they love."

"Bruce, if you're doing this for me—"

He chuckled. "Get sucked to a strange planet, riding a cosmic tube that could just as soon crush me into some antimatter? Of course I'm doing it for you."

Before she could protest, he had turned around and stepped in. Behind him Orion stepped and then Clark stepped in front of her, his arms outstretched.

Chloe heard the shattering glass, braced herself for the impact, but Clark's broad back bore the brunt of the debris and the force. She held her hands up to cover her ears.

"They're gone," she breathed.

Around her the Watchtower appeared as if one giant tornado had swept through.

"It's not over," Clark declared, looking out at the gaping hole left by the shattered window.

Chloe glanced out at the sky and saw the black clouds creeping towards them. Clark set his jaw as he looked down. She hurried towards the window and looked below, saw the darkness' minions making their way through the streets towards them as if commanded by a silent god.

"Darkseid," Clark whispered.

"Just like Orion warned." Chloe's eyes burned as, even in the distance, she recognized one of the figures below as her husband. She turned to Clark. "He'll remember. He's in there, Clark. I swear he is." She touched Clark's arm. "Don't hurt him," she said, her voice growing stronger.

Clark's eyes narrowed. "My first priority to Oliver is to make sure his wife and his kid are safe. "

At that, Chloe turned to Clark. "What does that mean, Clark?"

"It means that I'm going to honor the one thing that Oliver asked from me before the two of you moved to Star City."

Chloe licked her lips. Her heart thundered in her chest. "What did he say, Clark?"

"He asked me to promise him that if it came down to it, if I had to choose—then I need to keep you safe, even if it's from him."

A chilling calm washed over her. "And you didn't tell me."

"It was between the two of us." Clark glanced down. "I didn't think it meant anything."

"He has the omega symbol on his skull, Clark!"

"You expect too much from me if you think I could have jumped to this conclusion when he asked me to keep you safe."

Chloe blinked, "Right. When I shouldn't have expected anything from you." Chloe turned at the audible clearing of throat from the elevator. Bart shifted from one foot to the other. To Clark, she shook her head and said, "I could have done something, Clark. I could have fixed this." In her gut she knew neither she nor Oliver would have been strong enough to defeat this together. Even together they would not have been strong enough. But her husband was trapped inside his own head, his body manipulated by a force so evil it threatened to cloak earth in darkness. The one hero she had brought into the mission put his life on the line.

The noises from outside the Watchtower were thunderous as they came. Chloe closed her eyes. With the computer systems shattered from the boom, there was no way to communicate out. Victor would be on his way though, if he was not already. The intrusion was sure to send an automatic flag to Cyborg's systems. Since Bart had earlier been working with Tess, she had no doubt that Tess left for the Watchtower the same time as Bart.

Within the next few minutes, the minions stood in the open doorway. Chloe swallowed hard at the sight of Oliver Queen standing amongst the first who stormed the Watchtower.

His lips curved into a sly smirk as he proclaimed, "Somebody opened up something they shouldn't have."

Beside him, Desaad laid a hand on his back. "Leave her to me." And she swore there was a trace of concern in Desaad's suggestion. Chloe realized the man had been there during Oliver's brief moment of lucidity, had witnessed it. In all probability he knew if there was one thing that could break their viselike hold on the Green Arrow it was her.

And now her immediate mission was to be as close to her husband as possible.

Oliver turned away on command. Chloe aimed for him as she crossed the floor. She glanced at Clark, who was fending off Darkseid's minions left and right, leaving her to focus on whatever she had in mind. She glanced towards Bart. Oliver had turned his attention on the younger man. Halfway towards him Chloe stopped when Desaad laid a hand on her gut.

He dropped his voice and placed his mouth just near enough to her ear. "I know your secret, Mrs Queen."

"Get out of my way and maybe you won't be the first to die."

"Little spitfire," he murmured. "I enjoy it when you try me."

"Maybe I should remind you about what you should already know by now. I'm too strong-willed for you, Desaad."

"Maybe you are," he whispered. "Is he?"

But Oliver was holding Bart down in his strong grip. Chloe's gaze dropped down to where Desaad touched her stomach. Like she was burnt, Chloe stepped back. Desaad took a step forward, and she took another step back. His eyes lit up with the pleasure of discovery. Her back hit the heavy table that Tess had placed in the Watchtower. Desaad descended on her like a predator to his prey.

"This is too easy, much like burying a kitten alive."

Chloe glanced towards Bart and Oliver grappling on the floor. Knowing it was futile, she called out, "Oliver!"

"As easy as dropping a tiny bit of poison in a young woman's mead," he whispered in fond recollection. "Or even murdering an old woman who put you up to it to begin with."

Chloe used the distraction to kick him off of her and dive to the side. Desaad caught her arm and sent her reeling to the floor. She felt the hard material of the floor meet with the side of her face. When Desaad grabbed her ankle and pulled her towards him, she screamed.

Her cry was piercing, and it rang across the Watchtower. She looked towards where Oliver knelt above Bart. He glanced up, looking towards her with his eyebrows furrowed. And she swore he was fighting… because he was never ever going to leave her to fight alone.

tbc


End file.
